


Domestic Tranquility

by steelcrash



Category: The Avengers (2012)
Genre: F/M, Gen, Homecoming, M/M, Meet the Family
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-08-09
Updated: 2014-05-09
Packaged: 2017-12-22 21:52:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 11
Words: 21,972
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/918437
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/steelcrash/pseuds/steelcrash
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>SHIELD Agent Phil Coulson was a BAMF—the Avengers' handler, confidant, the glue holding them together. But nothing could unhinge him like a visit to the family homestead.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Domestic Tranquility

Chapter 1

Disclaimer: I do not own the Avengers. They belong to Marvel/Disney.

Flying commercial. Agent Phillip Coulson hated it, but he had to keep up appearances. Flying into Cleveland (the flight was late, of course), then the brief discussion with Steve Rogers AKA Captain America, about their rental car. He pointed out he should pick something fun, since they were on vacation. Coulson wasn't going to give in, but the look on Rogers' face made him do it. He couldn't refuse, and Rogers wanted the Mustang GT. He also let Rogers drive. One speeding ticket he was going to have to clean up later.

Now they were pulling up in front of his mother's house in Alliance. Coulson got out of the car, stepping up on the curb, pulling off his sunglasses when a small body hurtled down the front steps and sidewalk nearly knocking him over.

"Hi Emily," he said, hugging the girl. "How's my favorite niece?"

"Fine," she said. "Mom said you probably wouldn't show again this time."

"Your mother and I are going to have another talk," he said.

"Can it wait 'til later?" Emily asked, looking past her uncle at the man climbing out of the car by the curb. "Is that who you said you were bringing with you?"

"Emily, this is Steve," Coulson said as the other man walked up beside him. Emily shook his hand, and walked up to the porch ahead of them.

Rogers noticed the girl was wearing a blue t-shirt with his shield on it, along with baggy khaki cargo shorts and Converse all-stars. He caught Coulson's eye.

"Not related to you at all," he said.

Coulson actually blushed. Then his sister Rachel was at the door, letting them in, trying not to stare at his companion. Tall. Blond. Muscled. Oh so very polite and handsome. Khaki pants, a button-down plaid shirt and a beaten leather jacket. Her brother in his usual black suit, white shirt and tie. (His niece was convinced he was a man in black, and he did not correct her, despite her protests.)

"You were supposed to be here hours ago," Rachel said. "Mom's gone, and I have to be at work in an hour."

"Where's Mom?" Coulson asked, concerned.

"Mom'll be back in a day or two," Rachel said. "I thought you knew. Aunt Hattie had a heart attack, and she went to stay for a couple of days. Mom and I both posted it on Facebook. Didn't you see it?"

"Is she all right?" Coulson asked. "Remember—I do not have an account on Facebook. You could've e-mailed me or called."

"I got busy," Rachel said, "Aunt Hattie's fine. They heart-cathed her two days ago, and she's back home today."

"What about the bakery?"

"The manager and his daughter are taking care of things until Mom comes back, and me and Em have been helping out. I still work two nights at the hospital and two days at the shop," Rachel said. "You and I need to talk."

He followed her into the kitchen, wondering where Rogers and his niece disappeared to, but Rachel started in.

"I hope you didn't get Em anything extravagant for her birthday," she said. "She just turned 12, and doesn't need anything fancy or expensive. The laptop at Christmas was enough. And don't you dare disappoint her again, because I will hurt you in ways you have yet to imagine."

"How many times do I have to apologize?" he asked. Several months before, he'd broken a promise to his niece about coming to visit. At the time, he was recuperating at SHIELD's main medical facility from his wounds received from Loki. "Emily understands, so why can't you?"

"I know you're just a paper-pusher, some low-level government bureaucrat with a chip on his shoulder, but Em thinks you're out saving the world everyday, and I'm not going to ruin it for her," Rachel said. "Next time can you at least call and say you're not coming?"

"I think this has more to do with your disappointment over your ex-husband not meeting your expectations and less to do with Em and what she thinks," he said. "I have responsibilities and I can't just walk away from them."

"I have responsibilities, not like yours, but you don't see me skipping on mine just because it's convenient," Ratchel said.

"Rachel, I get. I'm sorry," Coulson said, hoping he could end the old argument.  
She wasn't paying attention to him—she was looking out in the backyard. He peered out, seeing Rogers and Emily throwing a baseball back and forth.

"Great. I assume he likes baseball?" Rachel asked, pointing outside.

"He does," Coulson said. "Looks like he and Em are hitting it off."

"They should—he's probably not much older than she is," Rachel said. "My God Phil, where did you find him? He's what, 21, 22?"

He couldn't tell her Rogers' actual chronological age was 92, but physically, he appeared 25, the same age as when he was put on ice.

She opened the cabinet, reaching up to get something down, and he noticed the visible bump of her belly, and a baseball came flying through the glass on the back door. Rogers picked that moment to walk in. Rachel caught Phil staring at her mid-section, her eyes wide, knowing he'd figured it out.

"When did this happen? Were you going to tell me?" Coulson asked.

"I was, but when were going to tell us you were shacked up with the hottie here, and one half your age?"

Emily stood beside Rogers, listening to the two argue.

"He's gorgeous in every way imaginable," Rachel said. "And get that look off your face. I'm fine with it. Just surprised. What happened with the cellist?"

"She moved back to Portland," Coulson said.

Rachel snorted. As if that explained anything.

"Does this happen often?" Rogers asked Emily.

"Only when he comes to visit, and it's almost over," she said.

"I can hardly wait to see the look on Mom's face," Rachel said. "Seriously—where did you find him?"

Coulson didn't answer, giving her his best stern we're going to talk later look. The one that usually cowed people like Thor and Stark. Rachel ignored it.

"You can watch Em tonight, can't you, or do you and loverboy have plans?" she asked.

"I would love to watch Emily," Coulson said.

"I figured as much," Rachel said. "Don't keep her up too late."

"I won't," he said.

Rachel gave him a quick hug. "I have to go, or I'll be late for work. See you tomorrow."

Coulson went upstairs and changed into jeans, a t-shirt and sneakers. He was off-duty for two weeks. Home. With his family. Might as well relax. Rogers was downstairs in the kitchen, looking for something to eat, and probably giving the rest of the house a look. With Rachel gone, he'd have a little peace, and a chance to apologize to Emily. He let himself into his niece's room, taking a look around. She was lounging on her bed with a book, but she set it down.

"This was my old room," he said.

"I know. It's why I wanted it," Emily said.

"Pizza, Chinese, or we can grill burgers," he said. "Movies here or the theater?"

"Chinese, movies here," she said, standing, following her uncle downstairs.

"What movie?"  
"'Men in Black'," Emily said.

Her favorite movie. Rogers hadn't seen it yet, so it was going to be an interesting evening. They walked into the living room, where Rogers was sitting on the couch, staring at something on the coffee table.

The SHIELD agent recognized the source of his friends' distress.

"What is this doing here?" Coulson asked, picking up the hefty book.

"It was one of my birthday presents from Mom," Emily said. "She said I should read something 'normal.' She was a little angry when she caught me reading 'I Am Legend.' The real one, not the one they wrote with Will Smith in it."

"What did she get you for your birthday?" Coulson said.

"Books and clothes," Emily answered.

"Some decent books, I hope," he said.

Emily shrugged.

Unfortunately, he was familiar with the book series. Agents Hill, Barton and Romanoff had read the Twilight books. Hill and Barton couldn't get enough of them. Romanoff preferred the movies to the books. He couldn't stand the books, but he'd only read the first one while recuperating. He was humoring his fellow agents, but God, it was awful. Then Rogers got a hold of it, read the first few chapters and well, Coulson wasn't supposed to know about what happened next. Rogers, along with Banner and Stark, had a nice little bonfire going in the lab until the fire suppression system kicked in.

Coulson and Romanoff had spent an evening together a few days later, eating popcorn and watching the surveillance tape over and over again while he was recuperating. The footage of Barton screaming "no," pounding on the lab door as his books burned and sliding down the wall while sobbing was still a fond memory.

But reality snapped back into focus from the warm fuzzies when Rogers snatched the book from his hand, started rummaging around on the bookshelves for more by the same author. Emily grinned when she figured out what he was doing. She ran upstairs, returning a few minutes later with the rest of her copies of the series, and her mother's. Rogers had her grandmother's copies in his arms. She followed him outside, across the backyard and into the alley. He tossed the books into the dumpster, and she threw hers in. He produced some matches from his pocket and threw them in after the books.

"Hardly appropriate for a kid your age," Rogers said. "C'mon. We got you some books I hope you'll like."

Coulson had gone a little extravagant with the gifts—an Ipad and a new cell phone just because he could. And Em seemed to appreciate the books from Rogers. He'd given her "The Hunger Games," "Tom Sawyer," and a book each by Arthur Conan Doyle and Jules Verne.

"Mom's gonna flip when she sees the new phone," Emily said, "She took away my old one."

She didn't tell him it was because her mom caught her answering her phone just like her uncle-"Coulson here." Her last name was hyphenated, Tyler-Coulson, a gift from her absent father, but she didn't like it. She was a Coulson, so she was going to call herself a Coulson. Besides, Emily was convinced her Uncle Phillip was a real-life man in black. His suit, the way he talked and acted, how he didn't talk about his work, he was away all the time, and sometimes didn't make it when he said he would. She figured he had an important job, and couldn't come.

"What about the Ipad?" he asked.

"It'll keep me from stealing her Kindle," Emily said, settling in on the couch next to her uncle to watch movies.

Everything was fine. Going well. Peaceful. Rogers wasn't hiding behind the couch like he figured he would because of the movies. He'd faced combat in World War II, stood up to Fury, Stark, the Hulk, fought the Chitauri and a god from another realm, but some modern movies creeped him out. Instead, Rogers was enjoying himself. Coulson was too, until his cell phone rang.

"Coulson here," he said, checking the number. Banner. What the hell did he want?

"It's Loki," Banner said.

"What about Loki?" Coulson asked. Rogers blanched.

"She's not eating. I was wondering if you want me to take her to the vet?"

"Do whatever is necessary," Coulson said through gritted teeth. Emily was looking at him, biting her lip. She wasn't stupid.

"Loki, huh?" she asked as he pocketed his phone.

"Loki is my cat," he said.

Loki, or as Fury called her, "that damn ball of fuzz," was a gift from Stark. The cat was a black Scottish Fold. She didn't come with a name, but Thor started calling her "Loki" because he thought she was a trickster after the kitten ran up Fury's leg more than once, and the name stuck. Ironic, considering. Technically, the animal was his, but she was Avengers communal property, their four-legged mascot. The damn thing even had a collar with a tag emblazoned with the SHIELD logo, a gift from Hill. Loke split her time between Potts (when he or Rogers weren't around), the lab, and the helicarrier.

"You have a cat, named Loki. Like the guy who tore up New York earlier this year," Emily said. "I thought you didn't like cats."

"It's not like I had any choice in the matter," Coulson muttered.

The color was coming back to Rogers' face, and Coulson was counting backward from 10. He hoped the call about the cat was not a precursor to any events involving the cat's Asgardian namesake.

Author's note: I don't really dislike "Twilight." I could just see certain of the members of the Avengers having a violent reaction to the books.  
Next >


	2. Chapter 2

Domestic Tranquility

Chapter 2

Disclaimer: I do not own the Avengers. They belong to Marvel/Disney.

Saturday morning. Rachel was asleep, they'd dropped Em off at her dance class, and Coulson and Rogers were going by Home Depot to pick up the stuff to fix the broken backdoor window. They walked in the doors, but Coulson started backing up, turning around, trying to take Rogers with him.

"Turn around. Let's go. Now."

He grabbed Rogers, was dragging him outside when he heard a voice, and he winced, turning around, forcing a smile on his face.

"Phillip Coulson? Is that you?"

He wanted to say no, ma'am, you're mistaken and leave, but Rogers was giving him a disapproving look. He sighed.

"Hi Marsha. How are you?" Coulson asked.

"Oh, you know, same old, same old," the woman said. "I should come by your mother's house and we can catch up."

"Can't wait," he said through gritted teeth, watching her leave.

Rogers was looking at him, one eyebrow raised, his interest piqued.

"Who was that?" he asked.

"One of my old high school classmates," Coulson said. "And if she stops by the house, I am sneaking out the back."

"That's rude," Rogers said.

"She's an unrepentant gossip and. . .not very nice," he said, avoiding using language he should not call a woman. "Let's get what we need."

They were packing the glass and wood into the trunk of the car when Coulson's cell phone rang—he checked the number, Emily.

"My dance class is out early. I need you to come pick me up."

Except when he got to the studio, he found one of the teachers waiting outside with his niece, and she waited until the girl was in the car to explain what really happened. Coulson listened as the woman told him his niece hit one of the other girls, and it was unprovoked and said Emily wasn't welcome anymore.

Coulson got into the car, put on his seatbelt, started up the engine, looking back at his niece's reflection in the rearview mirror.

"Want to tell me what that was all about?" he asked.

"Not really," Emily said.

"Was it uprovoked?"

"She started it," Emily said.

"Who started what?"

"Mrs. Dobson's daughter," Emily said. "You know her—the lady you went to school with."

Son of a bitch. Funny, seeing Marsha Dobson, and his niece was the same age as her daughter.

"Emily, did you hit her first?" Coulson asked.

"She called me names," Emily said. "And said some other stuff that wasn't very nice, so I hit her. Just like you showed me. Her nose made a crunchy noise, and there was blood everywhere."

Great. She'd probably broken the other kid's nose. Rachel was going to kill him, and no telling what she'd say to Emily. He sighed.

"Let's go get some lunch, and we'll worry about this later," he said.

The meal was a mostly silent affair, and neither Rogers or Emily complained when he suggested a trip to a nearby book store. Rogers loved books, and looking through the shelves would give Emily something to do for a while, and buy him time to think of something to tell his sister. He knew she'd pin the blame for the incident on him. She'd find a way. Except he got busy going through the messages on his phone, e-mailing Stark a terse message about how Loki was fine staying with Banner, and no, the animal was not their baby, and it was fine without them for a few days.

Coulson hit the "send" button, and heard footsteps behind him.

"You're on vacation," Rogers said. "Does your phone need to have an accident?"

"No," Coulson said.

"Where's Emily?" Rogers asked.

"In the astronomy section, trying to figure out where the Chitauri came from," Coulson answered.

"Like I said, not related to you at all," Rogers said.

They went and collected the girl. Coulson bought the astronomy book for her, and then Emily was grabbing his hand, pulling him toward Starbuck's. Unfortunately, it was Happy Hour. Half-price Frappuccinos. He watched Rogers down three of the largest size, Emily consumed two and he had only one. Then he was looking at his watch, almost 4 p.m., and Rachel would be up and wondering where they were, and the back door still wasn't fixed.

Pulling up to the curb in front of the house, Coulson looked up at the porch. Rachel was outside, talking to someone. When he discerned their identity, he almost drove away, but it was the coward's way out, and he was not a coward. Marsha Dobson's mother was on the porch, and Rachel was glaring his way, looking murderous.

He ignored it as they unloaded the car, and kept Emily close as he tried to maneuver past the nosy neighbor to get into the house.

"Hi Mrs. Pratt," he said. "Mom'll be home later. Rachel's got to get ready for work, I've got some stuff to do around the house. See you."

He shouldered past the woman, Rogers following, and he counted back from 10 as the door slammed behind them, and he locked it.

"Em, call the police if she comes back," he said.

"What do I tell them this time?"

"Make up something," he said.

"She was peeking in the windows a few weeks ago," she said. "Mom didn't believe me. Gram did, though. I do have pictures of her standing in the alley behind the house with binoculars last month."

"How did you get those?"

"Hiding up on the deck with my telescope," she said. "Gram let me hook her camera up to take pictures of the moon, and I was out setting everything up when I saw her out in the alley. Want to see?"

"Sure," he said. Emily shot up the stairs.

Rachel still hadn't said anything, and was still glaring at him.

"What?" Coulson asked.

"Were you going to tell me?"

"That Emily had a spat with another kid and it's over now?"

"She bloodied the other girl's nose," Rachel said. "Who gave her the idea it was acceptable to use violence to settle an argument?"

"Get ready for work," Coulson said. "I have a door to fix. We can talk about this tomorrow."

Rachel stomped off, and again, he ignored it, going into the kitchen, Rogers following, setting down their supplies.

"Are you going to recruit that kid when she's old enough?"

"Hopefully," Coulson said. "She can intern at 17, but she's exceptional enough, and Fury owes me, so I'll see what I can do when she turns 16."

"Stark'll have a fit when he finds out there's another one of you," he said. "But do you really want her living that kind of life?"

"The choice will be hers," Coulson said.

"Why do I get the feeling your sister won't like it?"  
"Rachel doesn't like a lot of things," Coulson said.

"Like violence?" Rogers asked.

"She thinks conflict can always be settled by talking things out, unfortunately, she doesn't like to think that Em is being bullied," he said. "She's small for her size, smart, and not like the other kids. I know what she's going through."

"You're not the only one," Rogers said.

88888

Darkness was falling, and they were sitting out on the deck, talking. Emily was pointing out her favorite constellations, and still talking about the alien invaders that hit New York. She also mentioned the Avengers. More than once. She was hitting a little too close to home, so Coulson decided to change the subject.

"Em, want to tell me what happened today? I'm only going to ask once," he said.

"Tara said I was a freak, that my family was weird and Mom was. . .uh, I can't repeat it," she said. "Rhymes with 'witch.'"

"Consider the source," Coulson said. "I believe you."

"I don't think Mom will," Emily said.

"She fails to recognize the caliber of people we're dealing with here," Coulson said. He was going to say more, but his phone rang. Fury. Showing the phone to Rogers, he went inside, leaving Emily and Rogers alone.

Emily went back to her telescope, putting the dew cover over equipment, then took her uncle's seat.

"Are you really dating my uncle?" she asked.

"Yes," Rogers answered. Honesty was best. Then he remembered he was talking to a kid, and a girl at that.

"It's cool. A couple of my classmates have two dads, and another has two moms, so I'm OK with it," Emily said.

"And you don't have a dad," Rogers said.

"I do, I just never see him," she said. "Not much anyway. I'm supposed to go spend a couple of weeks with him this summer, like I always do." Two weeks in California, while he was mostly gone, and she was left spending time with her step-mother, swimming and hiking.

"That's too bad you don't get to see him," Rogers said.

"Oh well," Emily said, shrugging. "I'd rather spend time with Mom and Gram and Uncle Phil when he gets to visit. It's never dull when he's here."

"Why is that?" Rogers asked, curious. Coulson was usually so confident and in control, but barely a day home, and his control was slipping.

"You'll just have to find out," Emily said.

88888

Sunday morning. 7 a.m. Rogers was up, eating a bowl of cereal, relaxing on the couch, watching cartoons. He was bare-footed, in pajama pants and an Army t-shirt, watching cartoons. He enjoyed Looney Toons. Daffy Duck and Bugs Bunny were something familiar. Hearing the front door open, he sat up, seeing Rachel walking in, locking the door behind her.

"What are you doing up?" she asked.

"Habit," he said. "Part of my routine. Can't kick it even when I'm off duty."

"You're in the Army?" she asked, pointing at his shirt.

"I was," he said. "Still in the same line of work, though."

"And that is?"

"Keeping people safe." An ambiguous answer.

"So are you a cop? Firefighter? Still in the Army? FBI? CIA?"

"None of the above," Rogers said.

"If you tell me, you'll have to kill me, right?" Ratchel said.

"Something like that," Rogers said.

"How did you meet my brother?"

"Through work," Rogers said.

"How did someone like you ever cross paths with my brother? Don't get me wrong—I love Phil, but sometimes. . ." Rachel said.

"He's a good man," Rogers said.

"I never said he wasn't," Rachel said. "Sometime's he's an ass, and he needs to be reminded of it."

She did have a point. Coulson was a badass, as Stark pointed out, but he could be a little. . .overbearing sometimes.

"Rough night at work?" he asked, changing the subject.

"You have no idea," she said. "Good night, or morning, or whatever."

88888

Coulson was sitting out on the deck again, this time, Sunday afternoon. He was drinking a beer, Rachel had tea, and they were trying to enjoy each other's company. Emily was inside, playing video games with Rogers, and Coulson wondered how well that was going. He looked over at Rachel, who was rubbing her belly.

"So, who's the father?" he asked.

"His name is Kelly, and he's a firefighter," Rachel said. "We're not seeing each other anymore."

"Is that a good thing?"

"It most definitely is," Ratchel said. "And I didn't mean to get pregnant."

"There are ways to prevent that, you know," he said, taking a pull off his beer. "Do you know what it is yet?"

"A girl," she said. "I've already got a name picked out. . .well, Em helped a little. She picked the first name."

"Are you going to tell me the name or not?" Coulson asked.

"It's a surprise," Rachel said.

He snorted.

"What? It's a good name," Rachel said. "You'll just have to wait a while."

"How far along are you?"

"Nineteen weeks," Rachel said. "You better be there when I deliver this kid. You missed Emily's birth, and I want you there this time. Jackass."

"No promises, Rachel," he said. "I'll be there if I can."

"Better than a promise you can't keep," Rachel said. "Hey—did Emily really have pictures of Mrs. Pratt spying on the house?"

"She showed them to me yesterday," Coulson said.

"Huh. I owe her an apology," Rachel said. "But this doesn't mean you're right about Pratt. I still think about what you said to her last Christmas. Mom was not impressed."

"I know that," he said.

"I didn't tell her about the cotton ball incident, though," Rachel said. "I know that was you. Had to be."

Christmas morning, Mrs. Pratt and other members of their household had awoken to find her personal vehicle and several others vandalized. No permanent damage was done, unfortunately. Just another battle in the psychological warfare he was waging on the damn neighbor. He'd dipped cotton balls in water, then applied them to the windshield of the neighbor's car. He'd only been able to cover the windshield, front windows and headlights of her car because the weather was terrible that night.

He said nothing.

"Hey, you never answered my question about where you found captain fantastic," Rachel said. "He told me you met through work."

"It's true," Coulson said.

"What does he do?"

"Stuff," Coulson said. "And he does have a name."

"I know," Rachel said. "He's do damn polite and well behaved."

"He was home-schooled," Coulson said.

"Uh huh," Rachel said. "C'mon. Let's go inside. I'm hungry."

Coulson followed his sister inside, walking into her when they got to the living room. Rachel whipped out her cell phone, starting to film her daughter and Rogers, who were playing a dance game on the Wii.

"Send me that, will you?" Coulson said.

"I will," Rachel said.


	3. Chapter 3

Domestic Tranquility

Chapter 3

Disclaimer: I do not own the Avengers. They belong to Marvel/Disney.

6 a.m. on a Monday morning. Coulson's internal clock would not let him sleep in, and Rogers wasn't exactly quiet as he was getting up and around.

Coulson sat up in bed. "Wake up Rachel and I can't protect you," he said.

"I have no doubt about that," Rogers said. "I'm going for a run. I'll let you sleep an hour, then I'm coming back by and you're going with me."

"Joy," Coulson said, flopping back down.

"See you in an hour," Rogers said, letting himself out of the room.

Coulson sat back up when he was gone, threw off the covers, going downstairs to the kitchen. He was not going on one of Rogers' forced marches without orange juice or something similar. He was standing in front of the fridge, door open, when he felt someone tapping him on the shoulder.

Coulson turned around, and Rachel was looking at him, concern in her eyes, whatever she was going to say forgotten. Then she was staring at his chest. She turned him around, looking at his back, then let him go. He crossed his arms.

"What the hell happened to you? That scar is new," she said.

"There was an. . .accident," Coulson said.

"Accident, my ass. Tell me the truth. What happened? When?"

"Several months ago," he said. That was all he was saying. He wasn't going to talk about it. Ever.

"I'm an ER nurse. I see crap like this all the time, and from the looks of this, you're lucky to be alive," Rachel said.

"I'm here, and that's all that matters," Coulson said. "What are you doing up so early?"

"Changing the subject is not getting you off the hook about this," Rachel said. "We will finish this discussion later and damn it, you are going to tell me the truth."

"It's over and done, and it's none of your business," Coulson said.

"Phillip Riley Coulson, we are just getting started," Rachel said. "Do not try my patience. I know where Mom hid her taser and don't forget you taught me how to use it."

"You wouldn't," Coulson said.

"Wanna bet?" Rachel said, shoving past him to get to the fridge.

"I'm hungry, but since you're up too, I'll make something for breakfast," Rachel said.

"Hopefully something more substantial than tofu," Coulson said. "I hope you're done with the health food phase. Steve eats a lot."

"I'll fix pancakes," Rachel said. "Go put on a shirt. I do not want Em seeing that scar."

"I'm going for a run with Steve," Coulson said.

"Have fun," Rachel said.

88888

Rogers' idea of a run was more like a marathon. Distance, speed, it didn't make much of a difference to him because he was the pinnacle of human strength and endurance. But he did take into account he was running with a "normal" human, and one who was shorter also. One nice thing about Rogers—he never, ever forgot how he used to be.

They were in the cooling down stage of the run, a few blocks from the house.

"Rachel saw my scar," Coulson said.

Rogers stopped in his tracks. "What? Did you tell her what happened?"

"I told her there was an accident, and she wouldn't take the hint and drop it," Coulson said.

"Don't you think she deserves the truth, or some form of it?" Rogers asked. "You can make something up. You're good at it. You do it all the time."

It made perfect sense. He was good at it, but this was family. He wasn't going to lie. Withholding the truth was a completely different matter.

"I'll think of something," Coulson said as they entered the house, Rogers making for the kitchen when he smelled food. He was helping Rachel set the table when Coulson finally made it inside. Emily was already at the table, poring over her astronomy book.

"I wonder what aliens really look like," she said. "What do you think, Uncle Phillip?"

"I don't know," he said, sitting down. And then he felt his phone buzzing in his pocket. "Coulson. . ."

"Hey, Phil."

Damn, it was Stark.

"What do you want? I told you not to call, I'm on vacation."

"I'm sending you something you'll want to see," Stark answered. "While you're on vacation, we decided Loki could use a little downtime, too."

"Who is 'we?'" Coulson said.

"Banner and I," Stark said. "Gotta go. Enjoy the pictures."

The call ended, and he had a photo message on his phone. Several, actually. The first was photo of Loki the cat sitting in Director Fury's chair. In his office. The second was Loki on the bridge of the helicarrier, staring out the windows. The third was of the cat in Banner's lab, looking at a computer screen.

"Phil, put down your phone," Rachel said. "Eat."

He gave her a dirty look, sitting down at the table, setting his phone down beside his plate. Rogers was already tucking into a huge stack of pancakes.

"Muscles, slow down, or you're going to choke," Rachel said, watching him shovel in the food. Usually Rogers had better manners, but so much travel meant little chance for a home-cooked meal.

"Yes ma'am," he said, slowing down.

"Hey Phil—I almost forgot to tell you," Rachel said. "Mom found a bunch of your old Captain America comics and stuff out in the garage a while back."

Rogers choked.

"What did you do with it?" Coulson asked, suspicious.

"Threw it away, what else?" Rachel said.

"What?"

Rachel laughed. "Got you. It's up in Em's room. I thought you two could go through it together. Seriously, though, I thought you were over all that."

"I still have a deck of vintage cards," Coulson said, catching Rogers' eye.

"You still need those signed, don't you?" Rogers asked.

Em frowned, but went back to her astronomy book. Something was going on. She just needed to figure it out.

"Signed by who?" Rachel asked.

"The artist," Rogers said. "The man who drew some of them. I think he's still alive."

"God, if he is, Phil would've found him by now," Rachel said. "He was obsessed with Captain America when he was a kid, and he's got Em hooked now. The Avengers. . really, Captain America? Where did they find those people? At least the one with the hammer is kind of cute."

"Phil can be very devoted to what he sees as a worthy cause," Rogers offered.

"Devotion? No way. This was full-on fanboy obsession," Rachel said. "I'm not the one that hot-wired Dad's car at 15 and took a joyride to Cleveland to see a display of World War II memorabilia including some Captain America stuff. Obsessed much?"

Coulson blushed red, matching the shade of his Ohio Buckeyes shirt. He glared at his sister. Two could play this game.

"Who ran away a couple of years later to go to a U2 concert?" Coulson asked.

"Remember who taught me to hot-wire a car?" Rachel countered. "And Dad went easy on me because he thought you helped, and were corrupting your poor, innocent little sister. I had a crush on Bono, but I grew out of it."

"Who dragged who to a U2 concert two years ago?"

"You enjoyed that, and you know it," Rachel said. "I did like the Eagles. We need to do that again sometime."

"What's a Bono?" Rogers asked. "And I'd like to hear more about his uh, obsession."

"Cupcake, help me with the dishes and you can hear all about it," Rachel said.

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Phil's hottie was helping her with the dishes. Phil helped with the dishes sometimes. Rachel had only ever seen two males on the planet help with domestic chores, and both were in her immediate family—her father and Phil. Phil mainly because it was expected, but the Boy Scout was drying while she washed.

"Ma'am, I can do this. You shouldn't be on your feet," he said.

"Are you for real? And why shouldn't I be on my feet?"

"You're pregnant," he said. "And I do know how to wash dishes. You sit and talk, and I'll do this."

He scooted her toward a chair at the table. Shrugging, Rachel sat down. Huh. Phil forgot his phone. . .

"You said Phil was obsessed?" Rogers asked.

"Oh God, you have no idea. . .he read everything he could get his hands on, comic books, history books, the encyclopedia. . .one summer I thought the head librarian at the library was going to put together a lynch mob," Rachel said.

"That bad?"  
"You have no idea" she said. "But that's enough about Phil's little obsession. What about you?"

"I don't have many obsessions, ma'am," Rogers said.

"I'm not talking about that, and don't call me ma'am," Rachel said. "I know it's respectful, but call me Rachel. Family? Do you like your job?"

"I don't any family left," Rogers said. "My dad died when I was little, and my mom when I was 16."

"I'm sorry," Rachel said.

"Thank you," he said. "But that was a long time ago."

Rachel frowned. Weird.

"Went to art school, joined the Army, and here I am," Rogers said.

"And now you're with my brother," Rachel said. "How did that happen? Have any serious relationships before that?"

Coulson's sister was one pushy lady. She would've made an excellent SHIELD agent, also.

"One, but it didn't last long. It didn't even stand much of a chance," Rogers said. "I wish I could say I lost her, but she lost me."

"You're not making any sense," Rachel said, picking up Phil's phone.

"Time, distance, circumstance," Rogers said. "Things neither of us had any control over."

"Sounds like Phil's luck," Rachel said. "Except answer me this—you were with a girl, I thought Phil was straight as an arrow, but. . ."

"Why are we together?"

"Yeah," Rachel said.

"It's him—just him," Rogers said, as if that explained everything.

"Well, whatever the reason, I'm glad he has you," Rachel said, scrolling through the pictures on her brother's phone. She felt a little guilty, being nosy, but she'd caught him going through her phone more than once, like it was OK. She never touched his phone because he wasn't absent-minded with his.

And oh hell, Phil was back in the kitchen, showered and changed and murder in his eyes. Except she was looking at one of the pictures, and couldn't believe her eyes.

"Why are there pictures of what looks like Tony Stark on your phone?" She looked closer. It was Tony Stark. With her brother. And a guy who looked like a surfer or from a rock band. Long blond hair and muscles.

Coulson snatched the phone back.

Rogers was giving him a look. Arms crossed, one eyebrow arched in interest. Coulson was coming unglued. Unflappable, stoic, brave steady Coulson, the Avengers' touchstone. A little disturbing and endearing a the same time. The man was always so in control and confident. Not so much now.

"Albuquerque. Last month," Coulson said more at Rogers than his sister.

Oh. That explained it. The incident with the Bilgesnipe.

"You met Tony Stark and you weren't going to tell me?" Rachel said. "He's famous. . ."

"He's also overconfident, obnoxious and more than a little crazy," Coulson said.

"Sounds like somebody I know," Rachel said, standing. "I have to get to the bakery. Don't burn down the house or anything while I'm gone."

Coulson waited until she was gone, then laid into Rogers. "Why the hell did you let her touch my phone?"

"I didn't see it," Rogers said.

"Enhanced senses and you can't keep something important out of my sister's hands?"

"I was doing the dishes," Rogers said.

"I can see that," Coulson said.

"Speaking of Stark, your sister kind of reminds me of him," Rogers said. "At least the part with the name-calling. Or maybe it's just that I'm not used to the objectification and demeaning language from a woman. Are you sure you're not related to Stark?"

"No way in hell," Coulson said.

Rogers grinned. Coulson's veneer was cracking further. "I was thinking. . .your sister is a nurse, and Banner is a doctor, so maybe someone could set them up on a date?"

Coulson frowned, then his jaw dropped. He blinked, like he couldn't believe the words coming out of Rogers' mouth.

"Seriously, it's a good idea," Rogers said.

"You're kidding, right? Please tell me you're kidding," Coulson said.

"I am," Rogers said. "But think about it—if he didn't have the anger management issues, it would be a nice match."

"The other guy would be no match for my sister," Coulson said.

"No kidding," Rogers said.

"And just how much did my sister embarrass me?"

"Not quite enough yet," Rogers said. "We haven't finished that discussion."

Coulson sighed. It looked like Rachel had unfinished business with Rogers, too.


	4. Chapter 4

Domestic Tranquility

Chapter 4

Disclaimer: I do not own the Avengers. They belong to Marvel/Disney.

Rogers disappeared on Coulson, going to shower and change. Rachel left a list of chores for him to do, and he ripped it to shreds after committing it to memory. He started the laundry, went and picked up the drycleaning and dropped off Emily at a friend's house, where she was spending the night. Rachel was going to be at the bakery until at least 6 p.m., leaving him and Rogers with most of the day to themselves. Alone.

Coulson walked through the house, Rogers wasn't inside. He found him out on the deck, in his usual khakis and a t-shirt, bare foot propped up on the deck railing, sketching.

"I was wondering where you were," Coulson said, sitting down next to Rogers, throwing an arm across the other man's shoulders. He looked at the drawing Rogers was working on—a sketch of Thor throwing Mjolnir at a Bilgesnipe.

"Very good, but we need to discuss your security clearance and non-disclosure agreements," Coulson said.

""I embellished a little," Rogers said.

"Thor killed one, and it took Stark and I using several of the Phase II weapons to kill the other," Coulson said.

"I read the report," Rogers said. "My security clearance is as high as yours, and I never signed a non-disclosure agreement. Those came after my time."

"We can make it retroactive to when you joined the Army," Coulson said.

"You can't do that," Rogers said.

"Watch me," Coulson said. Then he noticed the t-shirt Rogers was wearing—it said "Property of Stark Industries."

"Where did you get this shirt?" Coulson asked.

"Stark gave it to me," Rogers said, setting aside the sketchbook. "He said he was going to have his legal department contact SHIELD about who really owned the name Captain America."

"Take it off," Coulson said.

"Make me," Rogers countered, grinning. He kissed Coulson, shoving the smaller man down, but he wrestled out of his grip, sliding his hands under the hem of the shirt and up Rogers' back, trying to pull the shirt off him. Rogers broke away long enough to finish taking off the shirt, kissing Coulson again. Trailing kisses along the other man's jaw, up to his ear.

"We need to get past second base," Rogers whispered.

With work and travel, alien and terrorist attacks, the usual crisis of the moment, they didn't ever have much time alone together. Coupling that with Rogers' reserved nature and shyness and relative inexperience when it came to the physical aspects of their relationship, his taking the initiative almost never happened. That was Coulson's last coherent thought before he laid a searing kiss on Rogers' lips. But Rogers stiffened, breaking away, and he wasn't looking at him anymore. Coulson followed the other man's gaze. Mrs. Pratt was staring over the gate at them. He suddenly found himself on his ass on the deck as Rogers grabbed his shirt, stuffing it in the waistband of his pants, snatched up his sketchbook, hugging it to his bare chest, backing up to the kitchen door. Coulson noted Rogers was an interesting shade of red.

"Phillip, is your sister home? I want to talk to her," the woman shouted.

"Rachel is not home," Coulson said, picking himself up off the deck. "If you want to talk to her, call."

"Can you have her call me? It's about what happened Saturday with the girls," Mrs. Pratt shouted.

"I'll pass on the message."

He turned around, swearing. Rogers blushed even redder, not fighting as Coulson grabbed him by the arm, hauling him inside the house.

"I can't believe that woman," Rogers said.

"Believe it," Coulson said. "We're going to do something about this."

Another trip to Home Depot, and they spent the rest of the afternoon replacing the gate with a taller one, and fixing holes in the backyard fence. Then it was almost dinner time and Rogers hadn't a word the entire afternoon, just helping him fix the fence. They finished up, and Rogers went inside while Coulson put the tools away in the garage. He looked around. It needed cleaning up. Another item on Rachel's list, he noted, going inside.

And Rogers walked downstairs, in a t-shirt and sweat pants. He leaned down, touching his forehead to Coulson's.  
"I'm sorry about this afternoon," Rogers said.

"You have nothing to apologize for," Coulson said. Another quick kiss, and they noticed Rachel, who was standing at the bottom, clearing her throat.

"Get cleaned up. I'm ordering dinner. Then we're going to watch movies," she said.

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Coulson heard Rachel on the phone in the kitchen, and he sat down on the couch beside Rogers, who was drawing again. Several sketches were laid out on the coffee table in front of them—Natasha and Clint standing together, sharing a moment. Another of a Chitauri without its facial armor, one more of a sky whale coming through the portal.

"You better put those away," Coulson said as Rachel entered the room. Rogers did as he was told, leaving out only the one of the Chitauri.

"That's for Emily," he said. "She wanted to know what an alien looks like, so there one is."

"Don't you mean what you think an alien looks like?" Rachel asked.

"Yeah," Rogers said.

Rachel sat down in an armchair. "I just got off the phone with Mrs. Pratt," she said. "She wanted to talk to me about what happened with Emily and her granddaughter Saturday. She also asked if I knew what you were up to today. What the hell did she mean by that?"  
Rogers blushed, and Coulson sighed.

"We were out on the deck, and we caught her spying on us," he said.

"Why the hell was she spying?" Rachel said.

"We were uh, getting frisky," Rogers said. "She had no right. . ."

"The old bat got an eyeful of you two making out?" Rachel asked.

"Yes," Coulson said.

"You should have tased her," Rachel said. "What do you boys want to watch?"

"Anything but one of your chick flicks," Coulson said.

"And I don't want to see an action movie," Rachel said. "Cupcake, what do you like?"

"Ma'am," Rogers said.

"All right, Steve, what kind of movies do you like?"

"I watch a lot of classic movies," Rogers said. "Turner Classic Movies."

"Like what?"

"Black and white movies, Rachel. Old movies. Movies with actual plots and acting and storytelling, not like Twilight," Coulson said.

She flipped him the bird. Coulson ignored it, and Rogers sighed.

"Why don't you each pick a movie?" he suggested. He couldn't even catch a break on vacation from having to settle disputes.

"Sixteen Candles," Rachel said. "Have you seen that, Steve?"

"No."

"It's a classic," Rachel said.

"Sixteen Candles' is not a classic," Coulson said.

"Shut up," Rachel said. "I know where Em hid your box of old junk, and I can arrange for it to have an accident."

Coulson didn't get a chance to fire back because his phone buzzed. "Coulson. . .no Sitwell, I don't know why the consultant would be shooting Fury in the head with suction darts. He has a deathwish. That's why. Do something about it. Where's Hill? The infirmary? Why? For Christ's sake. . . I'm on vacation. . . He WHAT? Droids? He didn't have his ID card? How much did he have to drink. . .Where the hell is Banner and. . .No. He stuck an inflatable sheep where? Sitwell, you're a grown man. Take care of the problem."

He ended the call, and Rachel was staring at him, confused, and Rogers was trying not to laugh.

"Rachel, do not ask," Coulson said.

"I wasn't going to," she said. "That sounded more fun than my day."


	5. Chapter 5

Domestic Tranquility

Chapter 5

Disclaimer: I do not own the Avengers. They belong to Marvel/Disney.

6 a.m. Rachel snuck into the room Phil and Steve were sharing. She almost didn't want do disturb them—they were both out cold, spooned together on one side of the bed. She squinted, peering at Phil's face. He was smiling. In his sleep. Huh. She pulled her phone out of her pocket, snapping a shot, hoping the flash wouldn't wake them up. Well, she knew from experience it took a little more than that to wake her brother.

She was tempting fate, waking two ex-soldiers. She had learned the hard way how not to wake Phil during his rare leave time while he was enlisted in the Army. The subtle approach was best. Rachel pulled the covers back over their feet, emptying her container of frozen marbles into the bed. She left the room, shutting the door behind her, waiting. She grinned hearing the muffled 'what the hell?' then the door opened, and she was greeted by the sight of an angry Phil, and a bleery-eyed Steve behind him.

"What the hell is wrong with you? It's 6 a.m." Coulson said.

"I thought you were going for a run again this morning," Rachel said.

"Not after you kept me up until 3 watching movies," Coulson said.

"What about you cupcake, going for that run?" Rachel asked.

"I'm going back to bed," he said.

"If you want breakfast, you'll be down in a little bit," she said. "I have to be at the bakery again today, so if you want a hot meal, you'll come downstairs. And Phil, I want that list completed. Don't worry about picking up Em from softball camp—Allie's mom will drop her off when it's over. You need to clean the garage."

Rachel reached up, mussing her brother's hair, and blew him a kiss, leaving them alone. Coulson started after her, but Rogers grabbed him, pulling him back into his arms, resting his chin on the other man's shoulder.

"She means well," Rogers said.

"She's out of control," Coulson said. "That wasn't just to get us up this morning—that was a wake-up call. We need a plan of attack. We need to talk someplace private."

Five minutes later, they were in the bathroom, door locked, Coulson sitting on the edge of the tub, Rogers leaning against the door, arms crossed. Coulson turned the water on, hoping Rachel would take the hint and leave them alone if she came back upstairs.

"You're paranoid," Rogers said. "It was a harmless prank."

"Harmless prank number 1 quickly escalates into an all-out war," Coulson said. "I even locked the bedroom door as a deterrent."

"How did she get in?"

"She picked the lock," Coulson said.

"Just another skill you taught your sister?"

"Yes," Coulson said.

"Along with hot-wiring a car?"

"It's been a useful skill," Coulson said. "How many times have I had to procure transportation when no one else is thinking about it?"

Rogers let it slide. A distraction was necessary.

"What was that all about last night? What did Stark do?"

"I take it you understood the reference to the inflatable sheep?" Coulson asked.

"Banner explained the sheep thing to me," Rogers said. "Stark's mind is in the gutter."

Then Rachel was pounding on the door, yelling. "Breakfast is in five or I'm throwing it over the fence for the neighbor's dog."

"Welcome to the 21st century," Coulson muttered.

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They ate, and she left. Then they went back to bed. Rogers watching cartoons on his Ipad while Coulson talked. Not a bad way to spend a morning, Rogers reflected. Just spending time together was a rarity. They had two weeks to themselves. Fury had planned on giving them more time, but Coulson had argued with their boss it wasn't necessary. Rogers knew the time off was Fury's gift to them—a small thank-you for the sacrifices the two had made, both personally and professionally over the past six months. That and Coulson needed some downtime in a bad way. Rogers had orders to get Coulson to relax and get his mind off work, but his mind was never off work. The man's personal and professional lives were so intertwined now there was no separating them. Rogers figured it had been that way for sometime, but adding their relationship to the mix complicated things further, or simplified it, from Stark's point of view.

Rogers and Coulson were together, committed. They worked and fought side by side and even lived together, sharing a new apartment in Stark's tower, which was quickly becoming a base of operations for both SHIELD and the Avengers. Brothers in arms, comrades, sharing a bond transcending friendship, but not quite where it needed to be yet. They had an understanding, unspoken. Not exactly what he imagined for himself, but it was enough.

And of course, there was only so much idleness Coulson could take. Rogers watched him as he dressed, setting aside his Ipad.  
"Where are you going?" he asked.

"I have to clean the garage," Coulson said.

"I'll help," Rogers said. "Least I can do. Not like there's anything else to do. . ."

He was silenced with a kiss.

"Yeah, that too," Rogers stammered.

"Gotta round those bases sometime," Coulson said. "When you're ready."

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Rogers watched as Coulson opened the garage door. His eyes widened when he saw how much stuff was piled inside.

"She wants this done in one day?" Rogers asked.

"Good thing you're here," Coulson said, giving his partner a rare smile.

"How long has it been since this place was cleaned out?" Rogers asked.

"Probably since my dad died six years ago," Coulson said. "My mother and sister aren't very practical when it comes to the actual use for a garage. They think it's extra storage space, not for a vehicle."

"The house is spic and span," Rogers said

"My mother is obsessive-compulsive when it comes to cleaning," Coulson said.

"Then why isn't this clean?" Rogers said pointing.

"She doesn't live in the garage," Coulson said.

They worked several hours, and Coulson was packing yet another box outside when he saw Rogers half-heartedly going through what looked like a box of old newspaper clippings. He set his box down, going over to the other man.

"What is it?" he asked.

Rogers held out some of the clippings and what looked like a letter. Coulson took it—a letter from his grandmother to his grandfather while he was serving in the Army Air Corps during World War II.

"At least somebody made it back to the one they loved," Rogers said.

Coulson wrapped an arm around Rogers, who sobbed, sinking to the ground. He grabbed hold, and Coulson sat there with him, not really knowing what else to do. And of course, with his luck, Rachel came walking around the corner, carrying a take-out bag.

"I brought you guys lunch. . ."

"Go," Coulson said. Rachel nodded, walking away, leaving them alone.

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"Annoyed" didn't cover it. Coulson knew Rachel and her best friend, Shay, were sitting inside, talking about him. He saw them looking out the backdoor at him, giggling once in a while. Shay waved, and he waved back. The one saving grace was he was manning the grill. He wouldn't let anyone else touch it when he was there. Behind him, out in the yard, Rogers was showing Emily and her friend, Allie, Shay's daughter, the proper way to throw a baseball. Rogers was disgusted with the fact the girls were playing softball—baseball was good enough, so he was going to show them. So far, the evening was going well. Normal. Well, as normal as he'd experienced in a long time.

And he and Rogers hadn't discussed what happened that afternoon. Just one more thing they'd have to deal with later. It would come, but he was going to try and enjoy himself for a while.

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Rachel peeked out the window at her brother, whose brow was furrowed. He was either deep in thought or plotting ways to get even with her over the marble incident. Then Shay poked her.

"Never saw this one coming," Shay said. "I thought Phil was serious about that girl he was seeing—the one he brought home at Thanksgiving."

"He was," Rachel said. "He even mentioned the m-word, just once."

"Yeah, I remember that," Shay said. "New Year's Eve. He did seem serious about it, then again, I've never known Phil to be anything but serious."

"Tell me about it," Rachel said. "It's not a bad thing though. He's happy. Not the only thing—you should see the scar on his chest and back, It's new.

"Did he say what happened?"  
"He won't tell me anything," Rachel said. "He was supposed to come visit, it was right around the time all that alien weirdness happened in New York. Nothing for three weeks after he was supposed to be here—he never returned my calls, e-mails or texts. Then one day I get this short e-mail, saying he's sorry he couldn't come, he loves me and Em and Mom, and can I pass on his love and he's sorry?"

"He does work for Homeland Security, and Em does think he's a man in black, and if you think about it, it does all make sense," Shay said. "Gone all the time, no contact for weeks on end, and he never talks about his work. . ."

"Phil is a desk jockey," Rachel said.

Shay let it go. No point in trying to convince her friend of anything else. Rachel was blind. The dots connected, or maybe she just wanted them to. Changing the subject was probably a wise idea, though.

"How old is the new significant other?" Shay asked.

"Early 20s," Rachel said. "He won't tell me. I know he went to art school and was in the Army. He won't tell me how they met, just said it was through work."

"Quit being nosy," Shay said. "Just be glad Phil's whole and healthy and happy."

"Still crazy though," Rachel said.

"Is he still a Captain America fanboy?"

"He has a deck of vintage Captain America cards he wants to get signed by some artist, and you should've seen his face when I told him Mom tossed a bunch of his old junk," Rachel said. The fact she found them in the garage that day with Steve crying over a box of old junk was a little strange. Maybe he had PTSD?

"Hasn't grown out of it then, just hides it really well," Shay said. "Think we should go join them?"

"Sure," Rachel said. "Steve does need to hear move of Phil's fanboy adventures. Except she didn't get the chance. The instant she was out the door and close to her brother, his phone went off. She took it from his hands, answering the call, much to the annoyance of one Tony Stark.

"Hey Phil…"

"Phillip isn't here. Please leave a message after the beep." Rachel ended the call, setting the phone down on the table.

It buzzed again, this time she handed it to Rogers.

"What do you want?" he snapped.

"Who was that girl? I know you're on vacation, I hope it's a nice sunny beach somewhere, but a girl, Captain Spangles, a threesome, that's kinky for you, I'm surprised," Stark said.

"The next time I see you, we're going to have a talk about propriety," Rogers said.

"Did you say propriety or sobriety?" Stark asked. "Either way, Capsicle, I'm sitting that one out."

"Are you in the air?" Rogers asked.

"Yup," Stark answered. "Got another little problem with the Bilgesnipe."

"Where are you and who's with you?"

"Somewhere over eastern Colorado, getting ready to land. Barton is on the ground with an assault team trying to keep the critters 're in flat, rolling, open country," Stark said. "My friend Rhodey is with me."

"Where the hell is Th. . .Point Break?"

"Don't have any way to contact him," Stark said.

"Let me know how it goes," Rogers said. "Good luck."

"What is it?" Coulson asked.

Rogers stuck his fingers up the sides of his head like antlers.

"Great," Coulson said.

"Is that like government Army speak for something secret?" Rachel asked.

Coulson sighed, putting his arm around Emily, who was standing beside him, thinking. Steve was mimicking antlers, like the thing in his drawing of Thor, one of the Avengers. He'd let her look through his sketchbook, and it was full of drawings of things she could not even begin to imagine. And he'd given her a drawing of an alien, which looked like the ones from New York. She'd watched a couple of alien autopsy videos on YouTube, and dug up everything her 12-year-old mind could think of to look up on them. Thank heaven her mother didn't know, or she'd take away her laptop. (She still didn't know about the Ipad. She'd flip when she found out about what she viewed as another expensive, needless gadget.)

Then there was her mom's rant the day before about how much Uncle Phillip didn't talk about, like why did he have a picture of Tony Stark on his phone, and why couldn't he just be normal? The rant wasn't important to Emily. The significance of the conversation was the mention of Tony Stark, who was Iron Man, one of the Avengers. Thor was also an Avenger, someone also in a drawing in Steve's book. Emily also remembered the sketch of the pretty woman with the guns and the man with the bow and arrow. They had to be important.

No drawings of Captain America, but lots of the other people and places and more. Then there was the second part of her mom's rant, the part about Uncle Phillip's immaturity and his Captain America fanboy tendencies over the cards and wanting to get them signed. Steve was an artist. He was in the Army, too. . .Emily frowned. No way. . . But Steve was different. He didn't talk like the other adults she knew, or dress or act like them, and he didn't know who Bono was (neither did Allie, but she didn't care, but she knew Bono was a person, not a thing). Had to be though, right? But no. Stuff like that didn't happen in real life. Well, the aliens were real, and she'd seen the footage of the attack on New York and looked up everything she could find on the Avengers because she wanted to know more. Steve couldn't be, could he?


	6. Chapter 6

Domestic Tranquility

Chapter 6

Disclaimer: I do not own the Avengers. They belong to Marvel/Disney.

Emily waited until after dinner was over and the dishes done. The adults were playing Mariocart downstairs, and Allie was watching Justin Bieber videos on her Ipad. She pulled her lockbox from under the bed, unlocking it, going through the baseball cards until she found what she was looking for—her small collection of Captain America cards, a gift from Uncle Phillip. They were vintage, he said. (According to her mother, vintage was just a nice way of describing old junk.) They were old, from World War II, but that wasn't why they were precious. Her uncle trusted her with something old and valuable, something that meant a lot to him.

She picked out one of the cards, thinking. She could just put it in Steve's sketchbook and hope he noticed. It was better than asking outright. If she was wrong, she could just claim she put the card in the book because Steve reminded her of Captain America. If she was right. . .Only one way to find out. She ran downstairs, made sure they didn't notice, and stuck the card into the sketchbook, the top of the card peeking out over the edges of the book. Emily went back upstairs, hoping for the best.

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Coulson and Rogers were out on the deck, enjoying some time alone. They each had a beer, and it was late, so hopefully no neighbors peeking over the fence. Rachel was still up, but she was inside reading. She had to work the next night, and was staying up late, but she'd had enough company for one evening and threw the men out after Emily went to bed.

"Is Rachel always like this?" Rogers asked.

"She's crazier than normal," Coulson said. "It's the pregnancy—the hormones. She was worse when she was pregnant with Emily."  
"Rachel is spirited, but that can't be true," Rogers said. Banner could tell him the answer. He'd just have to e-mail him and ask.

"Maybe it's being pregnant and a single mother and worrying about her brother who never bothers to call or write or visit," Rogers said.

"She does have a lot to deal with," Coulson said.

"And you don't help," Rogers said.

"Rachel doesn't make it easy," Coulson said. "She's stubborn."

"So are you," Rogers said. "Why didn't you tell me you were in the Army?"

"It was only two years," Coulson said. "Then college, then my recruitment into SHIELD."

"You never talk about any of it," Rogers said. "Is there any wonder your sister gets so upset with you? And you don't share anything with me. You know my past, but I know almost nothing about yours."

"Does it really matter that much?" Coulson said.

"It does," Rogers said.

"And we're really going to have our first disagreement over this?"

"Not really," Rogers said. "I'm going inside."

He went in, picking up his sketchbook, ready to head upstairs when his phone rang. Stark, from the ringtone. A loud rock song. Stark had programmed his phone with a different song for everyone on the team, so he'd know who it was without having to look.

"Captain Rogers here. . .good. Nobody got hurt? Two of them? Again? How did Rhodes do? I told you to call, but that doesn't mean. . .No. Would you butt out of my personal life? I'll tell Fury who really put that footage up on FaceTube or whatever. . .it's called a breach of national security, and no, I'm not cranky. What about Loki? Which one? Where is she? Why is she there? She better be back in the apartment when we get home, or I will. . .Pictures? What pictures? No, he didn't tell me. . .Where the hell are you now? Do not piss off Fury again. . .No, you owe me. Remember who saved your ass in Mexico? I know that was off the books, do you think I'm stupid? Fine. Go ahead. See how far you get with that. . .how the hell are you going to move the carcass? Have fun."

Rachel was peering over the back of the couch at him.

His phone rang again.

"Captain Rogers. . .yes, it's a habit, and I don't know if I can break it. .. No, no dissection. How. . .well, you're going to have to fix that, aren't you? It's called 'containment.' Get off your ass and fix it. I don't care if you have to, make up something, but keep them away. Got it? No, you can't talk to Phil because I'm not talking to Phil. . .Logic? You know where you can stick your logic? I told you to stay the hell out of my personal life. . .What? I'm going to forget you said that. No, I don't need to look it up. Good-bye."

"Problems?" Rachel asked.

"Uh, kind of," Rogers said.

"And did you have a disagreement with Phil?"

"Not talking about," Rogers said. "No offense."

"None taken," Rachel said. "You know, there's a lot of that not talking going on around here.

"Yeah," Rogers said, going upstairs, opening his sketchbook. And something fell out. He bent down, picking it up—an old Captain America card.

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Coulson lay on the couch, staring into the darkness. It was after 3 a.m., and he couldn't sleep. Rogers locked him out of their room, and a call from Stark drove him outside to talk in private. Two more Bilgesnipe dead and destroyed. The idea to dissect one was a good one, but they were big, smelly and there wasn't an easy way to transport a carcass. That was an easy fix. Not so easy was trying to figure out if Rogers' annoyance with him was personal, or more on behalf of his sister. Rogers was getting to experience Coulson family dynamics in a trial by fire. No just easing him into it. It was all or nothing—either he could take it or not.

His fiancée, who me met in college, didn't last long past meeting his family. She said they were nosy, overbearing and weird. Then Anna, the cellist, was the only other woman he'd ever brought home to meet his family. That meant he was serious, and even she'd been overwhelmed (maybe it was the inclusion of Shay's family at the holiday meal and a couple of members of the extended family, he didn't know, and it did not matter now). The breakup of their relationship was mutual—she had an opportunity back home in Portland, and he was up to his eyeballs with SHIELD with no time for a personal life. Years of effort on the Avengers Initiative, working to make it a reality, seeing it through became his focus. Now, the Avengers were his life. He couldn't disentangle his personal life from it anymore because of his involvement with Rogers.

Coulson knew his mother suspected he did more than work for Homeland Security. She respected his silence, and had come to accept it. Years as a military wife gave her a perspective his sister did not have. Sometimes he got the feeling Rachel knew he was deep in something serious, but she chose denial for the sake of her own sanity and to preserve their relationship. They'd been close growing up, then not so close when he first joined SHIELD. She'd made a few decisions he didn't approve of, but he knew Rachel did not need his acceptance or approval. Eventually they settled into something they could both accept, which was the state of their present relationship. Tolerance, respect, and a great amount of sarcasm on Rachel's part and a healthy sibling rivalry was something they could both deal with.

Putting aside their differences for the sake of Emily and their mother was another compromise. Emily was probably one of the best things to happen to both of them. His niece's birth forced Rachel to become a responsible, contributing member of society once it became clear the girl's father wasn't going to stick around and accept his responsibilities. Having Emily in his own life gave him a sense of caution when it came to work, that there were people who loved him and depended on him, and gave him something more personal to fight for.

For a moment, he wondered what his father would think of the man he had become, and how he and Rachel had turned out. It wasn't something they ever discussed. Coulson knew their father had been proud of them both, regardless of the choices they made. And what would his mother say once she found out he was seeing another man? Probably nothing, knowing her.

Coulson's thoughts cycled back to Rogers. He was locked out on principle. Nice. A physical separation to show how Rogers felt about being shut out of parts of his life. Damn, he was a hypocrite. He expected all or nothing out of Rogers, and the least he could do was give back the same. He rolled off the couch, standing, going upstairs, knocking on the bedroom door. Rogers opened it, not saying a word, eyebrow arched in question.

"I'm sorry," Coulson said. "You were right."

"Apology accepted," Rogers said, letting him in. He flipped on the light, going to get his sketchbook, pulling out a card, handing it to Coulson. "Did you put this in my book?"

"No," Coulson said. "This is one of Emily's cards."

"Why would she. . .no. She couldn't know, could she?" Rogers asked.

"She's 12," Coulson said.

"She's your niece," Rogers said. "The apple doesn't fall far from the tree."

"You can ask her about it in the morning," Coulson said.

"You're not going to say anything?"

"I'm not interrogating my 12-year-old niece," Coulson said. "We'll figure it out. Can I stay here with you or not?"

"Ican't sleep without you anyway," Rogers said.

"The nightmares?"

"Yes," Rogers answered, flipping out the lights. He laid down, Coulson settling in beside him.


	7. Chapter 7

Domestic Tranquility

Chapter 7

Disclaimer: I do not own the Avengers. They belong to Marvel/Disney.

8 a.m. Rachel was standing in the kitchen, leaning against the counter, drinking decaf, watching Emily eat her breakfast. The girl was unusually quiet, but she had a book beside her cereal bowl, and was humming happily to herself. Rachel walked over, picking up the book, turning it over. It was "Unsolved Mysteries of World War II." It was open to a chapter about the disappearance of Captain America.

"Em, you and I need to have a talk about what literature is appropriate for a kid your age," Rachel said. "Did your uncle get you this book?"

Emily rolled her eyes. "No, you got it for me at the last library book sale," she said. "Don't you remember?

Then Phil and Steve came walking in, returning from a run, and Rachel stuck her tongue out at her brother, but of course, Phil ignored it, getting down a couple of bowls for himself and his hottie.

"You're on your own for breakfast," Rachel said. "Remember I have to work tonight, so you'll have to watch Em, and Phil, I'm going to need you to go into the bakery a few hours today. The manager called in sick, and they're going to be short, so the least you can do is man the register for a few hours. Mom texted me a while ago, and she'll be home sometime Friday. I'm going back to bed, and if you wake me up, I will kill you."

She gave Emily her book back, and Steve sat down at the table beside her. Emily pushed the cereal box his way, not taking her eyes off the book.

"Good book, kiddo?" he asked.

"Yeah," Emily said.

"What's it about?" Rogers said.

Emily handed him the book, still open to the same chapter. The girl watched his reaction—all the color drained from Steve's face as he handed it back to her.

"Interesting," Rogers said, trying to catch Coulson's eye. He was ignoring him, reading the morning paper. Damn. He was on his own. "You like history?"

"Some of it," Emily said. "Mom's always policing my reading, so I have to be careful what I choose."

"Yet she gave you Twilight," Rogers said.

"I read the first chapter and never picked it up again," Emily said. "Not until you got here."

"I read the couple of chapters and hated it," Rogers said. "Phil here read the entire first book."

"Why?" Emily asked. "Did you lose a bet or something?"

"Something like that," Coulson said, finally entering the conversation.

"Peer pressure," Rogers muttered. And then he nearly jumped out of his chair when his phone rang. Stark, again. "What do you want?"

"Irritable this morning, aren't we, sunshine?" Stark said. "Interesting e-mail I'm reading over Banner's shoulder. Who's pregnant? Something you want to tell me, Cap? Or do you need a refresher on the birds and the bees?"

"I'm going to throw you out an airlock without the suit when I get back," Rogers said.

"Sounds like fun," Stark said. "You still owe me a couple of rounds anyway. Banner's telling me the answer to your question is, and I quote 'the crazy doesn't come from the hormones.' Happy?"

Rogers hit the "end" button, setting down the phone.

"What did the consultant want?" Coulson asked.

"He was passing along some information from Banner that I asked for," Rogers said. "And you were wrong—Rachel isn't crazier because she's pregnant. You're just imagining things."

Emily snorted.

"See, even she agrees with me," Coulson said.

"Mom's just using it as an excuse," Emily said, standing, putting her bowl in the sink. "She has a lot on her mind."

"Such as?" Coulson asked, interested in what his niece had to say.

"Well, they offered her a full-time job at the hospital instead of part-time, and she could go to days, but she hasn't said if she wants it or not, and Gram said she should take it, but she's stubborn, and it would be better with the baby and everything," Emily said. "I wish she would take it."

"Maybe she will," Coulson said. "Now I know about it, we can talk. How does that sound?'

"Good luck with that," Emily said. "We better get to the bakery. There's only so long Marti and Kay can hold off the police this time of day."

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Rogers noted Emily was correct as they pulled around the block. It looked like a police convention outside the small building. He shot Coulson an amused look as he notice the name of the business—"Loafing Around."

"My mother's idea" Coulson said, holding the door open for Rogers and Emily. Five minutes later, he found himself put to work, boxing up dozens of donuts and other pastries for people and pouring coffee. Emily helped, and he guessed from how well the kid handled the ribbing from the police, she'd done it before. Coulson was behind the register, looking annoyed.

"Hey Emily, why's he looking so sour?" Rogers asked.

"He's probably mad he can't touch a donut," Emily said. "No eating on the clock."

Rogers laughed. "Phil does love his donuts," he said.

"And coffee," Emily said. "He's a zombie without it."

"I know. It's not pretty sometimes," Rogers said. "Hey—did you put that card in my sketchbook?"

Emily nearly dropped the box of donuts in her hands. "Yeah," she said.

"Why?"

"Um, you remind of what he'd. . Captain America would be like," Emily said.

"Not a fan at all like your uncle, eh?" Rogers asked, pointing at the Captain America shield shirt she was wearing again.

"He's my favorite Avenger," Emily said. "Mom likes Thor. Gram's favorite is Iron Man. She thinks Tony Stark is handsome."

Rogers looked across the room at Coulson amused. No, it did not run in his family at all. And he could hardly wait to tell him what his mother thought of Tony Stark. Fireworks anyone?

And then Emily's fingers were digging into his arm and her eyes wide as she stared at the man entering the bakery. Almost as tall as himself, in black fatigue pants and a fire and rescue t-shirt. Close-cropped red-blond hair and a beard and mustache, muscled. Looked enough like Thor Rogers had to do a double-take.

"Uh oh," Emily said.

"What?"

"That's Kelly," Emily said.

"Who?"

"Mom's boyfriend. Ex-boyfriend. I haven't seen him in a while, and he's never met Uncle Phillip," Emily said.

"It'll be fine," Rogers said, but he was going to keep a watchful eye on the meeting.

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Coulson didn't look up, counting money and putting it in the drawer, picking up a pencil to take down the next order.

"Two dozen donuts, a dozen blueberry muffins and six coffees."

"Plain donuts?"

"Glazed."

Coulson looked up, and found the man across the counter giving him a funny look.

"You must be Phillip Coulson," he said. "You look a lot like Rachel."

"And you are?" Coulson asked, frowning.

"Kelly Thorresen," he said, offering his hand. "I used to date Rachel. I take it she's never mentioned me?"

"Only once," Coulson said.

"Yeah. . .I'll just go get my donuts. . ."

Rogers handed him the boxes of pastries and a holder for the coffee. Kelly waved and smiled at Emily.

"How's it going, small fry?"

"OK," she said.

"See you."

Rogers noted Coulson looked calm, but the glint in his eyes belied his true feelings. He walked over, grabbed him by the arm, dragging him into the back, out of Emily's hearing.

"Emily told me who he is," Rogers said. "That's the father of your sister's unborn child. You are not going to tase him, interrogate him or have him disappeared."

"Oh, I won't have him disappeared. I'll do it myself," Coulson said.

"No you won't," Rogers said. "You don't even know why they're not together. Besides did you see how much he looks like Thor? I wonder if he ever sewed some wild oats in this realm?"

"That's not funny," Coulson said, trying not to smile, but Rogers was right. The resemblance the last name were suspicious, but he followed Rogers back out front, where Emily was ducked down behind the counter. He figured out why when he saw who had just entered—Mrs. Pratt, her daughter Marsha and her daughter, Tiffany, the girl Emily punched.

"I'll take care of this," Rogers said. He took their orders, boxed up the stuff and did a reasonable job of figuring out the register. Then Coulson heard Rogers yelp. He turned around, and Marsha was stepping from behind the counter, and Rogers was backed up against the wall. He didn't move until they left.

"What happened?" Coulson asked.

"You didn't see that?"

"I didn't see all of it," Coulson said. "Just the part where you were backed up against the wall."

"That. . .woman grabbed my backside, told me to call her if I ever wanted a good time and slipped something in my pocket," Rogers said, reaching into his pocket to find a $20 bill with a phone number written on it.

"C'mon. We could all use a break, and you can buy us lunch," Coulson said. "I'll go get Emily."

He removed his apron, which was emblazoned with the name of the bakery. He was going to have to remove the pictures from Rogers' phone if he could pry it away from him.

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Because Coulson wasn't allowed to interrogate Rachel's ex, and his sister wouldn't talk about it, Emily was a potential source of information. His mother and sister sometimes forgot to watch what they said around Emily, forgetting she was there.

"So, Em, what did Rachel threaten you with if you talked about Mr. Thorresen?"

"She said she would disown me and send me to boarding school," Emily said.

"What has the list grown to include now?" Coulson asked.

"What list?" Rogers said.

"The list of things to do to get disowned in the Coulson family," he answered. "At least my sister's version."

"No tattoos or piercings until I'm old enough, and even then, Mom doesn't want to see them or know about them, no joining the military, no motorcycles or dating anyone in a band," Emily said. "And no telling you anything she doesn't want you to know. But I don't mind snitching on Mom."

Coulson ignored the grin Rogers was giving him. He knew he was guilty of some of the things on that list, and had photographic proof. But he ignored it.

"Mom isn't talking to Kelly because she 'rabbited' when he popped the question," Emily said. "That's exactly what Gram said happened."

Interesting, that. And Rogers' phone was going off, with Stark's ringtone. At least he wasn't harassing him.

"Captain Rogers. . .no, he's here. Yes, we're talking again. No, I can't blame Loki for biting you, you probably did something to deserve it. Stark, harm a single bit of fur on Loki and I will. . .Oh yeah? Bring it on, tough man. The armor won't be enough. . .Fine. Jackass."

He ended the call, and Emily was giving him a strange look. Then she stood up, squealing him, giving him a big hug. Then she let go, walking away.

"What the hell was that about?" Rogers asked.

Coulson shrugged. "We'll figure it out later."

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Emily leaned against the Mustang, trying not to hyperventilate. Steve had answered his phone Captain Rogers. He was a captain, and he was talking to someone named Stark who had armor. Then there was Loki. Loki was someone Captain America faced in Germany a couple of days before the fight in New York. She was right. Steve wasn't like anyone else because there was no one else on Earth like him. Or maybe she was imagining it, and her mom would say she needed go grow up but everything fit. She had to be right.


	8. Chapter 8

Domestic Tranquility

Chapter 8

Disclaimer: I do not own the Avengers. They belong to Marvel/Disney.

Coulson was sitting on the couch between Emily and Rogers. They were watching "The Wizard of Oz." Emily had never seen it, due to Rachel's overwhelming childhood fear of the flying monkeys, and it was Rogers' favorite movie. He was trying to correct Rachel's oversight. He would have to do damage control when Rachel found out. It wasn't like they were watching an R-rated movie with his niece. He had out his cell phone, texting Rachel about an entirely different matter.

"Met a friend of yours at the bakery today." he texted, waiting.

"Who the hell would that be? came the reply.

"A firefighter named Kelly Thorresen."

There was no reply. Putting his phone away, he noticed Rogers was staring at him.

"Problems?"

"No," Coulson said.

"Are you sure?"

"Absolutely," Coulson answered.

"Mom is going to hurt you," Emily said. "I saw the message you sent."

"Reading my texts now?" Coulson asked.

"You weren't trying very hard to hide it," Emily said. "Besides, I think she misses Kelly. He's nice."

"Em, what was with the squealing this afternoon?" he asked. It was uncharacteristic of his niece to exhibit such behavior.

"Nothing," Emily said.

"Em. . .Did it have anything to do with the Captain America card in Steve's sketchbook?"

"Um, yes."

"Well?"

"Promise you won't laugh?" Emily said, hiding her face in a pillow.

"You know I won't," Coulson said.

"It's silly. . ."

"Emily," Coulson said, using the tone of voice he knew she'd heed.

"Steve let me look at his sketchbook, and he had the aliens from New York, and Thor, and he's talked on the phone with somebody name Stark, and he's a captain, so I thought maybe he was Captain America, but that's silly and can't be real and I think I'm going to die now," she said, once again burying her face in a pillow.

Rogers turned white; Coulson was at a loss for words. But Roger was shaking his head yes, and Coulson was most definitely not going to compromise national security on a whim. Then he found himself yanked off the couch and dragged into the kitchen.

"We should tell her," Rogers said. "She figured it out, it's the least we can do. Besides, would anyone believe her?"

Rogers did have a point, but it was his ass and his job. . .

"Fine," Coulson said, walking back into the living room, Rogers following.

Emily was sitting up once again, a frown on her face.

"What's the matter?" she asked.

"Emily, what I'm about to tell you, you cannot repeat to a living soul," Coulson said. "It could mean my job, Steve's job, and so much more. You're right."

She blinked a few times, then she stood up on the couch, jumping up and down, letting out another loud squeal. Jumping off the couch, she hugged her uncle, then hugged Steve again. She let go, sitting back down on the couch, taking a deep breath.

"I knew it," Emily said. "You do have an important job, don't you, Uncle Phillip?"

"Very important," Coulson said. "You're not going to say anything? I will find out about it. . ."

"I won't tell anyone, and that's a promise," she said. "Who would believe me anyway? Not Mom. But I won't tell on one condition."

Coulson met Rogers' gaze, then looked back at his niece.

"That Steve signs my Captain America cards," Emily said.

"Go get them," Rogers said.

Emily ran.

"Your family should be my official fan club," Rogers said.

Coulson blushed crimson.

"What?" Rogers asked,

"When I was a kid, I was the president of the local chapter," Coulson said.

"Remind me to sign your cards when we get home," Rogers said. Emily was back, and handed him her stack of cards and a Sharpie.

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8 a.m. Rachel was late coming home, two hours late. She was exhausted, and hungry and wanted to grab something to eat and fall into bed. Except her brother, Emily and the hottie were thick as thieves in the kitchen. Well, Phil was looking embarrassed, and Emily was laughing at a picture Steve was showing the girl on his phone.

"That was in California a few months ago," Rogers said. "I didn't know he could ride a motorcyle. . ."

Rachel cleared her throat. "What's so funny?" she asked.

"Nothing," Emily said, going back to her cereal. Phil picked up the paper, and Steve started scrolling through stuff on his phone.

"Rough night?" Coulson asked.

"Yeah," Rachel said. "And you didn't help by butting in."

"I wasn't butting in," Coulson said. "It was two text messages. Want to talk about it?"

"No, I don't want to talk about it or Kelly or anything to do with him," Rachel said.

Normally Phillip Coulson was a cautious man. His line of work had made him so, but sometimes, circumstances got the better of him. Especially when family was involved, mainly his baby sister.

"Why not?" he asked.

"Because I'm not having this conversation with you, it's none of your business, I don't want to hear your opinion of how I screwed up yet again, I know it, I don't need to be reminded of it, and why the hell should I when you never tell me anything anymore?" Rachel snapped. "I'm going to bed. Leave me alone or I will tase you."

His own threat leveled at him made Coulson bite back his comment.

"I think she's serious," Rogers said.

"She is," Coulson said. "Emily, what do you know about this Kelly?"

"He's Allie's dad's best friend's little brother," Emily said. "He was a Marine, and Mom really seemed to like him."

"Phil, don't butt in," Rogers said.

"I'm not," Coulson said. "Just gathering data."

"He always comes by the bakery hoping Mom is working," Emily said. "I know he's dropped by a couple of times to talk to Gram, but Mom doesn't know."

"See? I don't have to butt in," Coulson said. "My mother is doing it for me."

Rogers sighed, laying his head down on the table. The whole damn Coulson family could be recruited into SHIELD, but he doubted the organization could survive it. And what had he been thinking before they left New York? About how nice it would be to spend time with a normal family? So far, it was Avengers-lite. Was everyone in the 21st century so damn dysfunctional? Then again, it was family. The Avengers and Phil were his family, and by extension, the Coulsons' were too. He'd just have to get used to it.

"What's the matter?" Coulson asked.

"Just thinking," Rogers muttered. Then his phone rang. Stark. "What?" he asked. "No. WHAT THE HELL? No, I don't want to see pictures. Is it a real sheep? Thank God. . .inflatable? How did you get it in his quarters? Speak English. . .wait, I do not want to know. Stark, Goddamnit, Fury is going to kick your ass. Well, he might shoot you instead, and I'm not going to feel sorry about it. NO, you are not bringing a real sheep onto the ship. Fine. When Fury does shoot you, we'll just replace you with Rhodes. At least he knows how to follow orders."

He ended the call, and then his phone beeped, and Coulson's buzzed. Rogers looked at his own phone, wary. Coulson squeezed the bridge of his nose when he saw the picture on his own screen, counting back from 10. There was an image of Nicholas Fury, Director of SHIELD, asleep, with his arms wrapped around an inflatable sheep.


	9. Chapter 9

Domestic Tranquility

Chapter 9

Disclaimer: I do not own the Avengers. They belong to Marvel/Disney.

Coulson was on his laptop, responding to some emails from work while Rogers and Emily played a drawing game on their Ipads. A few hours of normal was nice, barring the desperate phone call from Stark, begging for help. Currently, Stark was in the ship's brig. No phone, no computer, no way to communicate with the outside world. Everyone would be lucky to survive the coming 24 hours. Director Fury wasn't too happy with the pictures of himself with the inflatable sheep. He'd sent out a memo declaring any inflatable animals in SHIELD headquarters as no longer allowed.

Coulson was still waiting for Stark to discover "Skippy's List." No one would be safe then. Natasha and Clint knew about it. He had pulled a couple of inspired pranks on Fury with their help. Nothing big, but enough to get Fury's attention. Well, with Stark, who the hell needed the list? He caused enough trouble on his own.

"What are you thinking?" Rogers asked, dropping onto the couch beside him. He'd left Emily in the kitchen, trying to duplicate the painting he'd done on his Ipad.

"How there are things in this world that Tony Stark does not need to know," Coulson said.

"Amen to that," Rogers said. "He is brilliant, but shouldn't you be thinking about something other than Stark? We're still on vacation."

"Oh, there are things, but some of them will get me into trouble," Coulson said, lips turning up in a slight smile.

Rogers blushed, knowing what he was hinting at. On vacation, and they'd had little time alone together.

"Maybe we can get Fury to give us a few more days off?" Rogers said.

"Two weeks is more than enough to be gone," Coulson said.

"Fury owes us," Rogers said. "He owes all of us. Clint and Natasha took three weeks off. Stark comes and goes as he pleases, and we get stuck with all the problems. If it's not you trying to put out the fires, it's me. Not that I mind, but we do deserve a break. A tiny one. You and me, no work, distractions or drama."

"Add no Stark and you've got a deal," Coulson said.

"I don't think anyone can guarantee that," Rogers said.

"You might be surprised," Coulson said.

"Is that a bet?" Rogers said.

"No, it is not a bet, and I think you're developing a gambling problem," Coulson said.

"I do not have a gambling problem," Rogers said.

"That's not what Director Fury said," Coulson retorted.

"That's not fair."

Then there was a knock at the front door, and Rogers got up to answer it. It was Shay, Rachel's friend, daughter Allie in tow.

"Hi Steve," she said. "Rachel said it was OK for me to take Emily to the water park with us. Is she ready to go?"

Coulson set down his laptop, going to get his niece. "Did you know you have plans today?" he asked.

"Water park?" Emily said. "I forgot with all the excitement yesterday. The water park is kind of dull, don't you think?"

"When you could be here, basking in the shadow of your hero?" Coulson said.

"Heroes," Emily said. "Instead, I'll be hiding in the shade trying not to end up looking like a lobster."

"You need to get out and enjoy life," Coulson said.

"Yeah, I know. Mom says to enjoy being a kid while I still can because I'll have to join the workforce in a few years," Emily said. "She's no fun."

"You still have a lot to look forward to," Coulson said. "Despite what your mother says."

"She doesn't mean it. At least I don't think she does," Emily said.

"Em, get your things. Shay is waiting," Coulson said.

She sighed, giving him a hug. He bent down, kissing her on the forehead. Emily went to change and get her bag.

"Don't forget to wear sunscreen," Coulson said as she came back downstairs.

"I won't forget," Emily said. "Hundreds of screaming little kids and roasting in the sun, here I come."

"Poor kid," Rogers said.

"Don't feel sorry for her," Coulson said. "It's a social excursion that will build character."

Rogers elbowed him. "It's summer, and she's a kid, and supposed to be having fun," he said. "What fun is she having?"

"She'd rather have stayed here with us," Coulson said.

"Yeah, my fan club has been halved," Rogers said.

"Rachel is still here," Coulson said. "Don't forget."

"And we're not supposed to wake her," Rogers said. "Something about getting tased?"

"She'd have to get to the taser first," Coulson said. "I know my mother's hiding place for it. I miss my taser. And my gun."

"You have an unhealthy attachment to inanimate objects," Rogers said.

"You're just repeating what you heard Banner say," Coulson said.

"It's true," Rogers said. "Sometimes I think you care about that taser more than me."

The kiss he gave Rogers suggested otherwise. "C'mon. Let's go get something to eat, and I'll show you around town. You wanted to know more about me, so here's your chance."

Coulson showed him the house his mother grew up in, the baseball fields where he used to play and won a state championship, the lake where his family used to boat, and a place he didn't often go—the cemetery. Rogers gave Coulson a questioning look as they turned in, and eventually came to a stop. Coulson got out of the car, Rogers following until the other man stopped in front of a headstone. It was engraved with a name, Alan Patrick Coulson.

"My dad's grave" Coulson said. "It's been a while since I've been here. He died of an aortic aneurysm six years ago."

"I'm sorry," Rogers said.

"Thanks," Coulson said. "He was in the Army, made a career of it. When he got out, he became an architect, and we moved here. All of my mother's family was here, so he thought it was only fair to settle here because he'd dragged us all over the place while he was in the service. I didn't mind. I loved it—getting to see new places, and meet so many different people. . .Rachel resented it, having to move all the time. My mother was an Army brat, so she was used to it."

"Why do I get the feeling your mother is an incredibly patient woman?" Rogers asked.

"You're not wrong," Coulson said. "She'll be home tomorrow."

"Should I be afraid?"

"Not really," Coulson said. "I think she'll like you."

"I hope so," Rogers said.

"Plenty to love," Coulson said.

"Repeat that," Rogers said.

"You heard me the first time," Coulson said. "C'mon. Let's head back to the house. Rachel is gone, so we'll have the place to ourselves."

Fifteen minutes later, they were barely in the front door, and they couldn't keep their hands off each other, Coulson shoving Rogers against the wall at the base of the stairs for a kiss, knocking down a couple of pictures. Then they were up the stairs, and nearly down the hall to their room when they heard a door open and footsteps. Almost in the clear, Rogers back against the door, Coulson's hand on the doorknob, they couldn't get enough of each other, and then he was being pushed away and Rogers was turning a bright shade of crimson.

"Ma'am," Rogers said.

"Mom," Coulson stammered.

"Hello Phillip," she said.

"Mom, we weren't expecting you until tomorrow," Coulson said.

"I can see that," she said, eying her son's companion. "I decided to come home a day early. Your aunt is doing fine, by the way."

"Uh, yeah. I should've called and asked how she was, but I've been uh busy," Coulson said. "Mom, I'd like you to meet Steve Rogers. Steve, this is my mother, Eileen Colson."

Rogers smiled at her, trying to be graceful and subtle about retrieving his t-shirt from the lamp on a table by their door, but he only succeeded in knocking the lamp over.

"Nice to meet you, ma'am," he said. "It's late. I'm tired. See you in the morning."

He retreated into the safety of the bedroom, leaving Coulson out in the hall, facing his mother. She sighed, closing the distance between them, wrapping her arms around her son.

"It's good to see you, Phil," she said. "Get some sleep. We'll talk in the morning."

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6:30 a.m., and a knock at the door.

"Phillip, downstairs. Now. We're going to have a talk."

He rolled out of bed, sighing, grabbing Rogers' discarded Army t-shirt, putting it on. Wouldn't do for his mother to see the new scars. She had enough to worry about. And of course, Rogers was gone, off on a run. Coulson followed his mother downstairs to the kitchen. She poured him a mug of coffee, shoving him toward the table. He took a seat, and she sat down across from him.

"Starting your mid-life crisis a little early?" she asked.

"Steve is older than you think," Coulson said.

"What, about 15 years younger than you?" his mother asked. "That doesn't matter though. Are you happy?"

"Very," Coulson said.

"Is it. . .

"No. Just him," Coulson said. "Only Steve."

"I still expect grandchildren," Eileen said. "You can always adopt. Or there are surrogates."

"Aren't you getting ahead of yourself?" Coulson said.

"You're not getting any younger," she said. "You can't expect Rachel to carry that load all on her own."

"You already have one grandchild and another on the way," Coulson said.

"Phillip, relax," Eileen said. "Always wound so tight, just like your father. . .Rachel's always in denial. Sometimes I think Emily is the only one with any sense around here."

"I think you're right about that," Coulson said. "Well, where would Rachel or I be without you?"

"Non-existent," Eileen said. "Has Rachel told you anything about Kelly?"

"She only mentioned his name once while I've been here, but we did meet him at the bakery," Coulson said.

"What did you think of him?"

"I don't know what to think when I don't have all the facts," Coulson said.

"Well, you'll get a chance to find out some of those facts," she said. "I invited Kelly over for dinner tomorrow."

He choked on his coffee.

"Are you crazy?" Coulson asked. "Rachel is not going to be happy." "Not her call," she said. "She's being stubborn."

"And you're butting in," Coulson said.

"Like you said, you don't know everything," Eileen said.

"But you'll fill me in, won't you?"

"Damn straight," she said. "Want some breakfast?"

"Yes, and Steve will be starving when he's back from his run," Coulson said.

"Phillip, you have not yet begun to see me butting in," Eileen said. "It's for Rachel's own good, but that can wait. I want to hear how you met Steve."

Coulson relaxed, sipping his coffee. He could do this. It was just his mother and a simple question. Technically, we met last year when Steve was unconscious and thawing out from being frozen in the Arctic since World War II.

"We met through work," he answered.

"That is not an answer," Eileen said. "Where were you? What were you doing?"

"Picking him up for an assignment," Coulson said. "In New York."

"Was that so hard?"

"No," he said.

"How long have you been seeing each other?"

"A while now," Coulson said.

"Phillip. . ."

"Almost six months," he said.

"Does he know about your Captain America obsession?" she asked.

"From the first day we met," he said.

"So he's not annoyed by the fact it's probably one of the reasons you were attracted to him?" Eileen said. "He seems like what a man like that would really be like."

"You got that from five minutes last night?"

"I know you too well, and I'm very observant," she said. "And I'm observing your significant other coming our way right now."

Rogers walked into the kitchen, looking anywhere but at Coulson, not meeting his eyes.

"Ma'am," he said, sitting down.

"Steven," she said.

"Just Steve, ma'am," he said.

"Call me Eileen, or Mrs. Coulson, but not ma'am. I had enough of that when I was teaching," she said. "Steve, tell me about yourself."

He took a deep breath, catching Coulson's eye. He smiled back, relaxing. They were finally getting a little more of normal.


	10. Chapter 10

Domestic Tranquility

Chapter 10

Disclaimer: I do not own the Avengers. They belong to Marvel/Disney.

Rachel walked into the kitchen, yawning. Phil was showing Emily something on his phone, her mother was at the sink, back turned to her and Steve was shoveling food into his mouth like there was no tomorrow.

"This looks cozy," Rachel said, sitting down.

Her mother got a plate down out of the cabinet, handing it to her. "You're lucky you came down," Eileen said.

"Yeah, I know. Muscles likes to eat," Rachel said.

Rogers turned red, handing her the almost-empty casserole pan near him.

"Sorry, ma'am," he said.

"What did I tell you about calling me that?" Rachel said, poking him in the ribs with the butt of her fork. "It's OK. Eat all you want. You probably don't get much of a chance to eat a decent meal considering how well Phil can cook."

He glowered at her.

"Actually, Phil can cook," Rogers said. "We just eat on the run a lot."

"Em, did you show your uncle the box of his old stuff we found in the garage?" Eileen asked.

"Not yet," Emily said.

"I still think we should trash it," Rachel said, watching Phil's eyes narrow. She reached over, patting him on the head. "You're a little old for all that, aren't you?"

"Rachel, leave your brother alone," Eileen said. "Some of those cards and comic books are worth a lot of money these days."

"Junk," Rachel said, sticking her tongue out at Phil. She was just trying to get a rise out of him now, but apparently, he wasn't taking the bait. "Hey—if you get those vintage cards of yours signed, won't that make them not worth anything now?"

"They're worth more than money," Coulson said. "Especially now."

Rachel noted the look passing between Phil and Steve, and the ghost of a smile on the hottie's lips. Why the hell did they have to be so cryptic?  
"Now that the government found some patsy to play Captain America?" Rachel said. "It just means the demand will go up for your vintage junk."

"What about those precious U2 concert posters you collect?" Coulson said.

"Those are vintage," Rachel said. "Worth a lot of money, but that's not why they're important."

"They remind you of the juvenile delinquent you used to be?" Coulson asked.

"I'm not the one that's mentally unbalanced enough to turn a childhood obsession into a career," Rachel said. "Captain fanboy."

Eileen decided enough was enough. "Rachel, I hope you don't mind, but I invited Kelly over for dinner tonight," she said.

"What?"

"Time to go," Emily said, grabbing her uncle by one hand and Steve by the other, dragging them from the kitchen and out onto the deck.

Rogers winced when he heard the sound screaming and of something breaking inside. Most likely something glass.

"Should somebody go back inside and stop them?" he asked.

"Getting in the middle of that is not a good idea," Coulson said. "I am not interfering."

"Yeah," Emily said. "It's lots safer out here."

"How can you both be so calm with members of your family inside screaming and throwing stuff at each other?" Rogers said.

"Just Rachel throwing things," Coulson said. "Sometimes she tends to overreact."

Emily snorted. "Slightly," she said. "Gram and Mom have been arguing about Kelly for a long time now. Gram said Mom needs to grow up and what happened with my dad probably won't happen with Kelly."

"Probably not," Coulson said, putting his arm around Emily.

"You're seriously all right with this?" Rogers asked.

Coulson shrugged. "Like I said, I'm not interfering," he said. "This is between Mom and Rachel."

"It'll be over soon," Emily said.

A few minutes later, the yelling ended. The kitchen door opened, and Rachel came out.

"Em, c'mon. We're going over to Shay's," Rachel said.

"I don't want to go," Emily said.

"Em, now. This is not negotiable."

"I'm staying," Emily said. "You can't make me go."

Rachel bit back the "wanna bet" on the tip of her tongue. She was furious with her mother, and now her annoyance with Phil was notching up, too. Emily was holding on to her uncle like she was never going to see him again if they were separated. Possible, but not probable, with the way Rachel was feeling. Phil was just easy target for her anger, and damn him, he'd just take it if she turned on him. He always had, just like their dad. Well, there had been occasions where he screamed back, but those were exceptions, and she'd probably deserved it. However, he didn't deserve her anger right now. Her mother earned her ire, and she was also angry with herself, but she wasn't going to admit it.

"Fine, Em. We're not going to Shay's, but we are leaving. Just for a few hours," Rachel said. "Phil, give me the keys to that Mustang or you will regret it."

He reached into his pocket, handed the keys to the rental to his sister.

"C'mon," she said.

An hour later and yet another speeding ticket he was going to have to clean up, Coulson was sitting at a table outside Starbuck's with Rogers. Rachel and Emily were inside, ordering.

"Did you teach Rachel to drive like that?" Rogers asked.

"No," Coulson said. "Our father taught us both to drive in his '65 Mustang, so that's where she picked up those speeding skills. Now that I think about it, I really miss that car."

Not that he was one to lust after a car, but it was a classic—a blue 1965 Mustang fastback, his father's one true love besides his mother. After his father's death, they'd talked about selling the car. Rachel didn't want it, it wasn't practical and all she'd seen was dollar signs. His mother hadn't wanted it because it was a reminder of the past. He would've taken it, but again, it wasn't practical, and he didn't have a place to store it. But that didn't answer the question of what they'd done with it.

"I didn't think you were into classics like that," Rogers said.

"You should know better by now," Coulson said.

"Oh, so I'm a classic?" Rogers asked.

"One of a kind and irreplaceable," Coulson said.

"So are you," Rogers said.

"Don't be making googly eyes at each other," Rachel said, sitting down at their table, handing Coulson his coffee. "I will never be able to get the image of Phil making googly eyes at someone out of my head."

"I do not make googly eyes," he said.

"You do to," Rachel said. "Isn't he, Em? Just at Steve, but still, googly eyes."

Emily rolled her eyes.

And Coulson frowned as his phone buzzed. "Coulson. . .sir. What? He's escaped? He has to be there somewhere if the armor isn't gone. . .yes, I saw the pictures. . .what about Loki? Really, sir, that isn't necessary. . .well, if you insist. . .It's all right, sir. See you then."

"Who was that?" Rachel asked.

"My boss," Coulson said.

"Who's Loki?"

"My cat," Coulson said.

"I didn't think you liked cats," Rachel said.

"I had to make an exception in this one case," Coulson said.

"Your boss is watching your cat while you're on vacation," Rachel said.

"Not exactly," Coulson said.

"You never make any sense," Rachel said.

"What is it this time?" Rogers asked.

"The consultant," Coulson said.

"I got that from the escaped part," Rogers said.

"They're looking for him right now," Coulson said.

"The boss must be really ticked off," Rogers said.

"Slightly," Coulson said.

"Now neither of you are making sense," Rachel said.

"Rachel, let it go," Coulson said.

"Why should I?" she asked.

He stood, grabbing Emily's hand, pulling her toward the bookstore.

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Coulson was staring at the books on the shelf in front of him, Rogers absentmindedly flipping through the book in his hands.

"I know what you're thinking, and I am not hiding," Coulson said.

"I wasn't thinking that," Rogers said. "I know you're hiding. I can't blame you after what happened back at the house."

"I'd like to know what my mother was thinking, inviting this Kelly person over to the house when Rachel does not want to see him," Coulson said.

"Maybe she has her reasons," Rogers said.

"Not like we'll have long to wait," Coulson said. "Rachel's coming this way."

"Where the hell have you two been hiding?" Rachel asked, smacking her brother in the arm with the books in her hands. "I've been looking for you and Em for a half-hour."

Rachel had a copy of the first two "Twilight" books and another book by the same author.

"Funny I can't find my copies, and it's only since you've been here," Rachel said, shooting Phil an accusing look.

"I didn't touch your books," Coulson said, glancing at Rogers, who was suddenly staring at his feet.

"Where's Em?" Rachel said.

"Did you check the astronomy or history sections?" Coulson said.

"No," Rachel said. "But I'm going to look."

"Rachel, I'll take those books," Rogers said. "That way you don't have to carry them all over the place."

"OK," she said, handing them over. "Meet me up front."

"Sure," Coulson said, watching her go. "Going to arrange for those books to have an accident also?"

"No, I'm going to pay for them," Rogers said. "Least I can do."

"Just make sure they're not where she can use them as a weapon tonight," Coulson said.

"You think it'll get that bad?" Rogers asked.

"Budapest and New York were nothing compared to the battleground Rachel can turn the house into," Coulson said.

"Please tell me you're kidding."

Coulson sighed. "I wish I was."


	11. Chapter 11

Chapter 11

Disclaimer: I do not own the Avengers. They belong to Marvel/Disney.

Rogers answered the front door when the bell rang. The entire Coulson family was hiding-Eileen was in the kitchen, Emily was out back on the deck with Phil, and he didn't know where Rachel was. The man at the front door could've been Thor's twin, but he was trying not to drop a case of beer and a large foil-covered pan.

"Hi," Kelly said. "I remember seeing you at the bakery with Rachel's brother and Emily."

"Steve Rogers," he said. "Phil's significant other."

Rogers took the pan and the case of beer from the other man, leading him into the kitchen. Eileen smiled at them both, hugging Kelly. "It's good to see you," she said.

"I don't think Rachel is going to be happy I'm here," Kelly said.

"We already had a talk about it," Eileen said. "Make yourself at home. Kelly, Phil is out on the deck. Steve, take Kelly and those beers outside so you three can get acquainted."

"Yes ma'am," he said, grabbing the beer, and Kelly followed him out. Rogers pulled three out, using his bare hand to pop the tops off, handing one to Coulson and another to Kelly.

"So, you work for Homeland Security?" Kelly asked Coulson.

"I do," Coulson said. Emily was sitting beside him, grinning at her uncle. Yeah, he worked for Homeland Security. "Em, go help your Gram in the kitchen, will you?"

She stood, going inside, leaving the men alone. Coulson was going to interrogate his sister's ex when he had an opening.

"What about you?" Kelly said, turning to Rogers.

"Same as Phil," Rogers said. "Homeland Security, same department, different capacities, sort of. I used to be in the Army. Emily said you were a Marine?"

"Six years," Kelly said. "I enlisted right after high school, loved it, but I did my time, and became a firefighter about two years ago."

Then it was off to the races with Rogers asking him all about his training as a firefighter, and more. Rogers could set anyone at ease. He had Kelly talking about his time in the Marine Corps, baseball and football. Coulson sighed, knowing he was going to have to wait for his questioning.

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Eileen went up the stairs, stopping at her daughter's door. She'd left Emily setting the kitchen table. The 12-year-old was more mature than her mother sometimes. Eileen took a deep breath, knocking on Rachel's door. She waited, and nothing happened. Time to up the ante.

"Open that door or I'll get your brother to pick the lock," Eileens said.

"I'll tase him," came Rachel's muffled reply.

"Get your butt out here now," Eileen said. "What kind of an example are you setting for your daughter?"

"What kind of example is Phil setting for Em?" Rachel said, cracking the door.

"This is not about your brother," Eileen said. "You are going to come downstairs and have dinner with your family and the father of your unborn child. You are going to treat Kelly with the civility and respect he deserves."

"You're just angry I didn't say yes to his proposal," Rachel said. "Is that why he's here?"

"I don't give a rat's ass about social conventions," Eileen said. "I don't care if you marry Kelly or not. You're being stubborn, and he deserves the chance to get to know his child regardless of what happens. Your brother is dating another man. I don't care what anyone thinks. I want you to be happy. Whether you find that happiness with Kelly or someone else is your decision. I just don't want to see you regret a stupid decision."

"I'll come," Rachel said, opening the door all the way, stepping out of the room.

Eileen put an arm around her daughter's shoulders, walking with her down the stairs.

"What did you do when you figured out Phil's date for his vacation was another guy?" Rachel asked. "I just wanted to see the look on your face."

Eileen sighed. There had been no figuring it out, considering she'd stepped out of her bedroom, witnessing her son making out with another man.

"Too bad you missed it the other night," Eileen said. "They were making out in the hall, knocking down pictures."

"Phil? Making out? In front of you? Must be serious if he's letting his guard down that much," Rachel said. "I know they're living together, but Phil and a PDA like that where you can see him. . .well, he and Steve said Mrs. Pratt was staring over the gate the other day when they were making out on the deck, but no one was home. . ."

Her mother was giving her a strange look.

"What? You didn't know Phil was shacked up with his hottie?" Rachel said.

"No, he didn't share that little detail," Eileen said.

"Oops," Rachel muttered. "He is happy. I have to give him that much. Phil and Steve are joined at the hip. And Em loves Steve, so I think this time Phil brought home a winner."

"You should tell him that," Eileen said. "Although you both have very good taste."

"Yeah, Kelly is easy on the eyes, but that's not why I. . ." Rachel trailed off, deciding to change the subject. "It doesn't bother you Phil's living out his fanboy fantasy?"

"I'll admit, seeing him with Steve was a shock, but I'm over it. They seem like a good fit, and like you said, there's something about Steve that makes Phil let down his guard, and that can be nothing but a good thing," Eileen said. "As long as he's happy."

"Phil's self-control has been really slipping this time," Rachel said.

"You probably haven't helped," Eileen said.

"I have, a little, but it's fun to watch his shell crack," Rachel said.

"Be nice to your brother," Eileen said. "Remember what I said about Kelly. I will make you regret it if you don't behave."

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Coulson was half-listening now to the conversation between Rogers and Kelly. But he snapped back to attention.

"You know your name means 'son of Thor,' right?" Rogers asked.

"Yes," Kelly said.

"Just like Coulson is 'son of Coul,'" Rogers said, grinning at Coulson.

"You'll pay for that later," Coulson said.

"My family came from Norway," Kelly said.

Rogers gave Coulson an "I told you so" look."

"Rachel said I kind of look like that Avenger, Thor," Kelly said. "I don't know. . ."

"The resemblance is uncanny," Rogers said. "I've seen pictures, and if your hair was longer, you'd be a dead ringer for that Thor guy."

Coulson pinched the bridge of his nose.

"Steve, keep it up," he muttered, nearly getting knocked off his feet when Rogers clapped him on the back.

"I'm going to play catch with Em," Rogers said, nodding toward Emily, who had her baseball and glove, tossing the ball into the air, catching it. "You guys have some things you need to discuss."

"So how much do you know?" Kelly asked, surprising Coulson by cutting to the heart of the matter so quickly

"Not much," Coulson said. "Emily mentioned something about you proposing to Rachel."

"I did," he said. "And that was the end of it. Rachel told me it was over."

"Was this before or after she found out she was pregnant?"

"Before," Kelly said. "Has she always been so stubborn?"

"Yes."

"So you propose and Rachel dumps you?"

"That was the end of it," Kelly said. "A couple of weeks later she comes over, tells me she's pregnant, and we talked a little, but she's cut me off. Mostly. I did go with her to her ultrasound appointments, but we haven't talked about us, the baby, anything. I don't know what to do. Eileen's been trying to get Rach to talk to me, but she won't. I even thought maybe the age difference was an issue, but I don't know what I did wrong."

"You do know how well her first marriage went, correct?" Coulson asked.

"She told me about it," Kelly said. "But I'm not like that, and I've done everything I can to try and show her I love her and want to be with her."

"Have you told her this?" Coulson asked.

"I tried," Kelly said.

"Try harder," Coulson said. "But if you hurt her, I will make your life unendurable. Do you understand?"

"Yes," Kelly said.

"All I can suggest is talk to her. Make her listen. It's the only thing that works. Don't give up. . ." Coulson said. But why the hell was he saying this to someone, when he didn't have Rachel's side of the story? Oh well. Kelly seemed determined. "That's all the advice I can offer. And good luck."

And then Eileen was dragging Rachel out the backdoor, and shoving her toward Kelly.

"Play nice," Eileen warned. "I can see you from the kitchen. Phil, help me inside, will you?"

He handed his grilling instruments to his sister.

"Don't burn dinner," he said. "Amateur."

Rachel glared, but Kelly took the spatula and tongs from her. "I'll take care of it," he said.

And then Rachel was alone with Kelly.  
"You're looking good," Kelly said. "How are you feeling?"

"Like I'd rather not be here," Rachel said.

"Y'know, whatever I did, you can tell me, Rachel," Kelly said.

"That's the thing—you didn't do anything," Rachel said. "I mean anything wrong. You did everything right. I thought maybe you'd prove me wrong."

"That's it? That's all? I didn't live up to your low expectations, so that's what this is all about?" Kelly said, incredulous.

"I'm not ready for another marriage," Rachel said. "Things were moving too fast."

"That's the thing, Rach, the first time, you didn't have a marriage," Kelly said. "If you don't want to get married, fine. I'm willing to do whatever you want, just give me a chance."

"You're doing it again," Rachel said.

"Maybe we need to go back to square one," Kelly said. "Or something in between we can both live with. I want to see you. You're having my kid, our daughter. I miss Em, and your mom, and I miss us. I'm not asking you to take me back. I'm asking for another chance. Rach, you need to tell me when something is wrong, or whatever. Please?"

The look on his face was so hopeful and full of longing, yet Rachel couldn't bring herself to say yes. She did miss him.

"Maybe," Rachel said. "Let's just get through tonight, OK?"

"OK," he said.

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"Are they talking?" Eileen asked her son, who was dicing tomatoes for a salad.

"Yes," Coulson said, looking out the back window.

"No screaming, throwing things, broken glass?" Eileen said.

"None," Coulson said.

"That's good," Eileen said. "What do you think of Kelly?"

"I think he's a very determined man," Coulson said. "I wished him luck."

"Do you like him?" Eileen asked.

"He has guts, he really seems to care for Rachel, and he's trying to stick it out, so that's definitely something in his favor," Coulson said. "I think you made up your mind about him a long time ago, correct?"

"I think he's the one for Rachel," Eileen said. "I just hope she's wise enough to realize it. Is Steve the one for you?"

"What kind of question is that?" Coulson asked.

"Rachel said you're living together, so I take it the relationship is very serious," Eileen said.

"It is," Coulson said. "Satisfied?"

"Yes," Eileen said.

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They'd barely sat down to dinner when Kelly's pager went off, but he wouldn't leave until he had a promise from Rachel she'd call him the next day. Now she was sitting out on the deck, thinking. She heard the backdoor open, didn't look up when Phil sat down beside her.

"Mom's very proud of the fact she didn't have to call law enforcement tonight," Coulson said.

"Who needs them when we have you and captain fantastic at the dinner table?" Rachel said.

"And your Thor lookalike," Coulson said.

"You noticed?" Rachel said.

"How could I not?" Coulson said. "Are you really going to give him a chance?"

"I don't know," Rachel said. "I don't know what I want."

"It's not about what you want at this point," Coulson said. "It's about what you need, or doing the right thing. If you don't love the man, let him know. If you do love him, that's too precious to waste. Rachel, what happens happens. There are no certainties in this life. I know."

"Which of your failed relationships are you referring to?" Rachel asked.

"Neither," Coulson said. "I am only going to say this once—you've seen my scars, you and I both know I probably shouldn't be alive, but I am. Actually, for a few moments, I wasn't alive. But I'm here now. That was enough to make me reevaluate a few things in my life, like what kind of risk was I willing to take to get what I really wanted? Steve and I were barely friends, and we took a chance. It scared the hell out of both of us at first, there are times I still can't believe we're together, but we were both willing to take that chance on each other, for one another. It hasn't been easy, but it's been worth it."

"You really love him, don't you?" Rachel said.

"I do," Coulson said.

"Have you told him?" Rachel asked.

"Not really," Coulson said.

She smacked him on the arm. "Damn it, tell Steve or I will kick your ass," Rachel said.

"I will if you give Kelly another chance," Coulson said. "You're being damn stubborn and stupid. You'd really deny him the chance to see his daughter?"

"No," Rachel said. "I've just been so confused about this. . ."

"Well, get unconfused," Coulson said. "Do what you have to to get this worked out. Call him tomorrow. This not negotiable. Just talk. That's all. You're not agreeing to the rest of your life, but in way, you already have that tie because you're having his baby. Are we good?"

"Yeah," Rachel said. "I'll call him in the morning. And I have a question—how the hell did you land someone so perfect?"

"Steve is not perfect," Coulson said. "Not even close. . .well, sometimes, but that's beside the point. He hogs the covers, he's stubborn, questions orders, eats like a starving horse, has an unhealthy fondness for gambling, he's deathly afraid of zombies. . ."

"Zombies? Seriously, Phil?"

"A couple of our co-workers decided it would be fun to invite Steve over for a "Walking Dead" viewing marathon and it did not end well," Coulson said, hoping he would not have to elaborate. He remembered that night all too well—the call from Banner saying Rogers had locked himself in Stark's bathroom and refused to come out.

"Mom still hasn't forgiven me for the zombie thing at Thanksgiving," Rachel said. "Shay still thinks it was hilarious."

"Anna was offended," Coulson said.

"That should've been a tip-off she wasn't the right one for you," Rachel said. "Is Steve offended by jokes like that?"

"Considering what we have to deal with at work, no," Coulson said.

"Good," Rachel said, putting an arm around her brother. "I'm glad you're here. I've missed you, and I'm sorry if I've been a bitch. Baby hormones, Mom, Kelly, the offer they made me at work. . ."

"Em told me about it," Coulson said. "Full-time. More money. That's a good thing."

"I might take it," Rachel said.

"Good," Coulson said. "I've missed you, too."

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Coulson was cold. Not unusual, considering he had none of the covers on his side of the bed and the air conditioning was cranked. A pregnant Rachel plus hot weather equaled getting frozen out of the house. Adding to it was the fact Rogers hated being cold, especially when he was trying to sleep. Coulson noted the mass of muscle beside him was wrapped in the comforter up to his nose.

"You're hogging the covers," Coulson said, poking Rogers in the ribs.

"Sorry," came the muffled reply as Rogers rolled over, unwrapping himself. Coulson resettled the covers, spooning up against Rogers. Then, of course, his phone buzzed.

"Don't answer it," Rogers said.

"It could be something important," Coulson said.

Rogers grabbed the phone off the nightstand, answering it himself.

"No. He's busy right now. Call back and leave a message. . .God damn it, Stark, it's a Saturday morning and we're on vacation. You better have the hounds of hell on your heels or another damn alien invasion coming down on your head because. . .Oh yeah? '. Save it. Good-bye."

"That was very professional," Coulson said, kissing Rogers' neck.

"I'm going to clean his clock," Rogers said, rolling over, facing Coulson. "Do I need to arrange an accident for your phone?"

"No," Coulson said, silencing him with a kiss, running his hands up the back of Rogers' shirt. He sat up, throwing off the shirt, and then found himself pinned by Coulson, and kissed hard. And for once, Rogers didn't push Coulson's hands away when he untied his pajama bottoms, and then there was a knock at the door.

"Breakfast is in 10."

"Almost to third base," Rogers muttered.

Coulson kissed him, hands trailing over the muscles of his chest and then his flanks, enjoying the noises Rogers was making. But he broke it off.

"It is a Saturday, and we are on vacation," Coulson said.

"Staying at your mom's house," Rogers said. "Awkward."

"C'mon, let's go eat before Rachel breaks out the frozen marbles again," Coulson said.

Rogers sighed, throwing off the covers, trying to find his shirt. Damn. He watched Coulson pick up his Army shirt and put it on.

"I need a shirt," Rogers said.

"No you don't," Coulson said. "I want to see if Rachel can make it through breakfast without choking when she sees you shirtless."

"Showing me off?" Rogers asked, crossing his arms.

"Maybe," Coulson said. "Does it really matter? Or maybe I want to see you without a shirt. Does that work for you?"

"What about your mom and Emily?"

"They won't take offense," Coulson said. "I know I won't."


End file.
